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LIBRARY 


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are reasons for disciplinary action and may 
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5 








THE WORKS 


OF 


EDGAR ALLAN POE 


IN TEN VOLUMES 
VOLUME Ix 


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EUREKA, AND MISCELLANIES 





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PORTRAIT OF VIRGINIA CLEMM, WIFE OF 
EDGAR ALLAN POE. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH 
OF THE WATER-COLOR DRAWING IN THE 
POSSESSION OF AMELIA POE. COPYRIGHT, 
1893, BY AMELIA POE. 








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THE WORKS 


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EDGAR ALLAN POE 


NEWLY COLLECTED AND EDITED, WITH A 

MEMOIR, CRITICAL INTRODUCTIONS, AND 

NOTES, BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 
AND GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY 





THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
ALBERT EDWARD STERNER 


IN TEN VOLUMES 
VOLUME IX 





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; MISCELLANIES 139 
ie MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 141 
i PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 174 
MS A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 183 
es CRYPTOGRAPHY 260 
ANASTATIC PRINTING 279 
SOME SECRETS OF THE MAGAZINE PRISON- 

HOUSE 286 

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Illustrations to the Ninth Volume 


PORTRAIT OF VIRGINIA CLEMM, WIFE OF EDGAR 
ALLAN POE. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE 
WATER-COLOR DRAWING IN THE POSSESSION 
OF AMELIA POE Frontispiece 


PICTURE to face page 
THE MANOR-HOUSE SCHOOL AT STOKE 
NEWINGTON 141 






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A PROSE POEM 













: ", WITH VERY PROFOUND RESPECT 
a THIS WORK | 


IS DEDICATED 


a's TO 
a ae | 
_ ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT 





PREFACE 


To the few who love me and whom I love—to those 
who feel rather than to those who think —to the dreamers 
and those who put faith in dreams as in the only reali- 
ties —I offer this book of Truths, not in its character 
of Truth-Teller, but for the Beauty that abounds in its 
Truth, constituting it true. To these I present the compo- 
sition as an Art-Product alone, —let us say as a Romance; 
or, if I be not urging too lofty a claim, as a Poem. 

What I here propound is true: — therefore it cannot die; 
or if by any means it be now trodden down so that it die, 
it will “rise again to the Life Everlasting.” 

Nevertheless, it is as a Poem only that I wish this work 
to be judged after I am dead. 

Be Aa. 


EUREKA 


AN ESSAY ON THE MATERIAL AND 
SPIRITUAL UNIVERSE 


—_————_@—__—_— 


Ir is with humility really unassumed—it is with 
a sentiment even of awe—that I pen the opening 
sentence of this work; for of all conceivable subjects, 
I approach the reader with the most solemn, the most 
comprehensive, the most difficult, the most august. 

What terms shall I find sufficiently simple in their 
sublimity — sufficiently sublime in their simplicity — 
for the mere enunciation of my theme? 

I design to speak of the Physical, Metaphysical, and 
Mathematical — of the Material and Spiritual Unt- 
verse, of tts Essence, tts Origin, its Creation, tts Pres- 
ent Condition, and its Destiny. I shall be so rash, 
moreover, as to challenge the conclusions, and thus, 
in effect, to question the sagacity, of many of the 
greatest and most justly reverenced of men. 

In the beginning, let me as distinctly as possible 
announce, not the theorem which I hope to demon- 
strate — for, whatever the mathematicians may assert, 
there is, in this world at least, zo such thing as demon- 
stration — but the ruling idea which, throughout this 
volume, I shall be continually endeavoring to suggest. 

My general proposition, then, is this: —Jx the 
Original Unity of the First Thing lies the Secondary 

5 


EUREKA 


Cause of All Things, with the Germ of their Inevitable 
Annthilation. 

In illustration of this idea, I propose to take such a 
survey of the Universe that the mind may be able really 
to receive and to perceive an individual impression. 

He who from the top of A£tna casts his eyes leisurely 
around, is affected chiefly by the extent and diversity 
of the scene. Only by a rapid whirling on his heel 
could he hope to comprehend the panorama in the 
sublimity of.its ozeness. But as, on the summit of 
Etna, zo man has thought of whirling on his heel, so 
no man has ever taken into his brain the full unique- 
ness of the prospect; and so, again, whatever con- 
siderations lie involved in this uniqueness have as 
yet no practical existence for mankind. 

I do not know a treatise in which a survey of the 
Universe — using the word in its most comprehensive 
and only legitimate acceptation — is taken at all; and 
{t may be as well here to mention that by the term 
** Universe,” wherever employed without qualification 
in this essay, I mean, in most cases, to designate the 
utmost concetvable expanse of space, with all things, 
spiritual and material, that can be imagined to exist 
within the compass of that expanse. In speaking of 
what is ordinarily implied by the expression “ Uni- 
verse,” I shall, in most cases again, take a phrase of 
limitation — “the Universe of Stars.” Why this 
distinction is considered necessary will be seen in the 
sequel. 

But even of treatises on the really limited, although 
always assumed as the unlimited, Universe of Stars, 
I know none in which a survey, even of this limited 
Universe, is so taken as to warrant deductions from its 
individuality. The nearest approach to such a work 


EUREKA 


is made in the “ Cosmos ”’ of Alexander von Humboldt. 
He presents the subject, however, not in its individu- 
ality but in its generality. His theme, in its last 
result, is the law of each portion of the merely physical 
Universe, as this law is related to the laws of every 
other portion of this merely physical Universe. His 
design is simply synceretical. In a word, he discusses 
the universality of material relation, and discloses to 
the eye of Philosophy whatever inferences have hitherto 
lain hidden Jdehind this universality. But however 
admirable be the succinctness with which he has 
treated each particular point of his topic, the mere 
multiplicity of these points occasions, necessarily, an 
amount of detail, and thus an involution of idea, which 
preclude all zzdzvzduality of impression. 

It seems to me that, in aiming at this latter effect, 
and, through it, at the consequences — the conclusions, 
the suggestions, the speculations, or, if nothing better 
Offer itself, the mere guesses— which may result from 
it, we require something like a mental gyration on the 
heel. We need so rapid a revolution of all things 
about the central point of sight that, while the minutiz 
vanish altogether, even the more conspicuous objects 
become blended into one. Among the vanishing 
minutiz, in a survey of this kind, would be all 
exclusively terrestrial matters. The Earth would be 
considered in its planetary relations alone. A man, 
in this view, becomes Mankind; Mankind a member 
of the cosmical family of Intelligences. 

And now, before proceeding to our subject proper, 
let me beg the reader’s attention to an extract or two 
from a somewhat remarkable letter, which appears to 
have been found corked in a bottle and floating on the 
Mare Tenebrarum— an ocean well described by the 


7 


EUREKA 


Nubian geographer, Ptolemy Hephestion, but little 
frequented in modern days unless by the Transcen- 
dentalists and some other divers for crotchets. The 
date of this letter, I confess, surprises me even more 
particularly than its contents; for it seems to have 
been written in the year ¢wo thousand eight hundred 
and forty-eight. As for the passages I am about to 
transcribe, they, I fancy, will speak for themselves. 

“Do you know, my dear friend,” says the writer, 
addressing, no doubt, a contemporary —‘‘Do you 
know that it is scarcely more than eight or nine hun- 
dred years ago since the metaphysicians first consented 
to relieve the people of the singular fancy that there 
exist but two practicable roads to Truth? Believe it if 
you can! It appears, however, that long, long ago, in 
the night of Time, there lived a Turkish philosopher 
called Aries and surnamed Tottle. [Here, possibly, 
the letter-writer means Aristotle; the best names are 
wretchedly corrupted in two or three thousand years. ] 
The fame of this great man depended mainly upon 
his demonstration that sneezing is a natural provision, 
by means of which over-profound thinkers are enabled 
to expel superfluous ideas through the nose; but he 
obtained a scarcely less valuable celebrity as the 
founder, or at all events as the principal propagator, 
of what was termed the deductive or a priorz philoso- 
phy. He started with what he maintained to be 
axioms, or self-evident truths; and the now well-under- 
stood fact that zo truths are se/fevident really does 
not make in the slightest degree against his specula- 
tions ;— it was sufficient for his purpose that the 
truths in question were evident at all. From axioms 
he proceeded, logically, to results. His most illus- 
trious disciples were one Tuclid, a geometrician 

8 


EUREKA 


[meaning Euclid], and one Kant, a Dutchman, the 
originator of that species of Transcendentalism which, 
with the change merely of a C for a K, now bears 
his peculiar name. 

‘Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme, until the 
advent of one Hog, surnamed ‘the Ettrick shepherd,’ 
who preached an entirely different system, which he 
called the a postertorz or tnductive. His plan referred 
altogether to sensation. He proceeded by observing, 
analyzing, and classifying facts —zustantie Nature, 
as they were somewhat affectedly called — and arrang- 
ing them into general laws. In a word, while the 
mode of Aries rested on xoumena, that of Hog 
depended on phenomena; and so great was the 
admiration excited by this latter system that, at its 
first introduction, Aries fell into general disrepute. 
Finally, however, he recovered ground, and was per- 
mitted to divide the empire of Philosophy with his 
more modern rival; the savants contenting themselves 
with proscribing all other competitors, past, present, 
and to come; putting an end to all controversy on the 
topic by the promulgation of a Median law, to the 
effect that the Aristotelian and Baconian roads are, 
and of right ought to be, the sole possible avenues to 
knowledge. ‘ Baconian,’ you must know, my dear 
friend,” adds the letter-writer at this point, “ was an 
adjective invented as equivalent to Hog-ian, while 
more dignified and euphonious. 

“ Now I do assure you most positively ”— proceeds 
the epistle — “that I represent these matters fairly ; 
and you can easily understand how restrictions so 
absurd on their very face must have operated, in 
those days, to retard the progress of true Science, 
which makes its most important advances, as all 


9 


EUREKA 


History will show, by seemingly intuitive Jdeaps. 
These ancient ideas confined investigation to crawl- 
ing; and I need not suggest to you that crawling, 
among varieties of locomotion, is a very capital thing 
of its kind; but because the snail is sure of foot, for 
this reason must we clip the wings of the eagles? 
For many centuries so great was the infatuation, 
about Hog especially, that a virtual stop was put to 
all thinking, properly so called. No man dared utter 
a truth for which he felt himself indebted to his soul 
alone. It mattered not whether the truth was even 
demonstrably such; for the dogmatizing philosophers 
of that epoch regarded only the road by which it 
professed to have been attained. The end, with 
them, was a point of no moment whatever: —‘ the 
means!’ they vociferated—‘let us look at the 
means !?— and if, on scrutiny of the means, it was 
found to come neither under the category Hog, nor 
under the category Aries (which means ram), why 
then the savants went no farther, but, calling the 
thinker a fool and branding him a ‘ theorist,’ would 
never, thenceforward, have anything to do either with 
him or with his truths. 

“ Now, my dear friend,” continues the letter-writer, 
“it cannot be maintained that, by the crawling sys- 
tem exclusively adopted, men would arrive at the 
maximum amount of truth, even in any long series’ 
of ages; for the repression of imagination was an 
evil not to be counterbalanced even by absolute cer- 
tainty in the snail processes. But their certainty was 
very far from absolute. The error of our progenitors 
was quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who 
fancies he must necessarily see an object the more 
distinctly, the more closely he holds it to his eyes. 

10 


EUREKA 


They blinded themselves, too, with the impalpable, 
titillating Scotch snuff of defaz/,; and thus the boasted 
facts of the Hog-ites were by no means always facts — 
a point of little importance but for the assumption 
that they always were. The vital taint, however, in 
Baconianism — its most lamentable fount of error — 
lay in its tendency to throw power and consideration 
into the hands of merely perceptive men —of those 
inter-Tritonic minnows, the microscopical savants, the 
diggers and pedlers of minute facts, for the most part 
in physical science; facts, all of which they retailed 
at the same price upon the highway; their value 
depending, it was supposed, simply upon the fact of 
their fact, without reference to their applicability or 
inapplicability in the development of those ultimate 
and only legitimate facts, called Law. 

“Than the persons” — the letter goes on to say — 
“than the persons thus suddenly elevated by the 
Hog-ian philosophy into a station for which they 
were unfitted, thus transferred from the sculleries into 
the parlors of Science, from its pantries into its pul- 
pits — than these individuals a more intolerant, a more 
intolerable, set of bigots and tyrants never existed on 
the face of the earth. Their creed, their text, and 
their sermon were, alike, the one word ‘fact,’ but, 
for the most part, even of this one word they knew 
not even the meaning. On those who ventured to 
disturé their facts, with the view of putting them in 
order and to use, the disciples of Hog had no mercy 
whatever. All attempts at generalization were met 
at once by the words ‘ theoretical,’ ‘theory,’ ‘ theorist ;’ 
all thought, to be brief, was very properly resented as 
a personal affront to themselves. Cultivating the 
natural sciences to the exclusion of Metaphysics, the 

II 


EUREKA 


Mathematics, and Logic, many of these Bacon-engen- 
dered philosophers — one-idead, one-sided, and lame 
of a leg — were more wretchedly helpless, more miser- 
ably ignorant, in view of all the comprehensible 
objects of knowledge, than the veriest unlettered hind 
who proves that he knows something at least, in 
admitting that he knows absolutely nothing. 

“Nor had our forefathers any better right to talk 
about certainty, when pursuing, in blind confidence, 
the a friort path of axioms, or of the Ram. At 
innumerable points this path was scarcely as straight 
as aram’s-horn. The simple truth is, that the Aris- 
totelians erected their castles upon a basis far less 
reliable than air; for 2o such things as axtoms ever 
existed or can possibly exist at all. This they must 
have been very blind indeed not to see, or at least to 
suspect; for, even in their own day, many of their 
long-admitted ‘axioms’ had been abandoned: ‘er 
nthilo nthil fit, for example, and a ‘thing cannot act 
where it is not,’ and ‘there cannot be antipodes,’ and 
‘darkness cannot proceed from light.’ These and 
numerous similar propositions formerly accepted, with- 
out hesitation, as axioms, or undeniable truths, were, 
even at the period of which I speak, seen to be alto- 
gether untenable. How absurd in these people, then, 
to persist in relying upon a basis, as immutable, whose 
mutability had become so repeatedly manifest ! 

“ But, even through evidence afforded by themselves 
against themselves, it is easy to convict these @ friorz 
reasoners of the grossest unreason; it is easy to show 
the futility, the impalpability, of their axioms in gen- 
eral. I have now lying before me’ —it will be ob- 
served that we still proceed with the letter —“I have 
now lying before me a book printed about a thousand 

12 


EUREKA 


years ago. Pundit assures me that it is decidedly the 
cleverest ancient work on its topic, which is ‘ Logic.’ 
The author, who was much esteemed in his day, was 
one Miller, or Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as 
a point of some importance, that he rode a mill-horse 
whom he called Jeremy Bentham ; — but let us glance 
at the volume itself. 

“Ah ! — ‘ Ability or inability to conceive,’ says Mr. 
Mill, very properly, ‘is zz 2o case to be received as a 
criterion of axiomatic truth.’ Now, that this is a pal- 
pable truism no one in his senses willdeny. Vof to 
admit the proposition, is to insinuate a charge of 
variability in Truth itself, whose very title is a syn- 
onym of the Steadfast. If ability to conceive be 
taken as a criterion of Truth, then a truth to David 
Hume would very seldom be a truth to Foe, and 
ninety-nine hundredths of what is undeniable in 
Heaven would be demonstrable falsity upon Earth. 
The proposition of Mr. Mill, then, is sustained. I 
will not grant it to be an axiom; and this merely 
because I am showing that zo axioms exist; but, 
with a distinction which could not have been cavilled 
at even by Mr. Mill himself, I am ready to grant that, 
zf an axiom ¢here be, then the proposition of which we 
speak has the fullest right to be considered an axiom 
— that no more absolute axiom zs, and, consequently, 
that any subsequent proposition which shall conflict 
with this one primarily advanced, must be either a 
falsity in itself —that is to say, no axiom —or, if 
admitted axiomatic, must at once neutralize both it- 
self and its predecessor. 

“ And now, by the logic of their own propounder, 
let us proceed to test any one of the axioms pro- 
pounded. Let us give Mr. Mill the fairest of play. 


13 


EUREKA 


We will bring the point to no ordinary issue. We 
will select for investigation no commonplace axiom — 
no axiom of what, not the less preposterously because 
only impliedly, he terms his secondary class — as if a 
positive truth by definition could be either more or 
less positively a truth; we will select, I say, no axiom 
of an unquestionability so questionable as is to be 
found in Euclid. We will not talk, for example, 
about such propositions as that two straight lines can- 
not enclose a space, or that the whole is greater than 
any one of its parts. We will afford the logician 
every advantage. We will come at once to a proposi- 
tion which he regards as the acme of the unquestion- 
able — as the quintessence of axiomatic undeniability. 
Here it is: —‘ Contradictions cannot doth be true — 
that is, cannot coexist in nature.’ Here Mr. Mill 
means, for instance, —and I give the most forcible 
instance conceivable, —that a tree must be either a 
tree or zof a tree — that it cannot be at the same time 
a tree azd not a tree; all which is quite reasonable of 
itself, and will answer remarkably well as an axiom, 
until we bring it into collation with an axiom insisted 
upon a few pages before; in other words — words 
which I have previously employed — until we test it 
by the logic of its own propounder. ‘A tree,’ Mr. 
Mill asserts, ‘must be either a tree or zo¢ a tree.’ 
Very well: and now let me ask him, why. To this 
little query there is but one response —I defy any 
man living to inventasecond. The sole answer is this: 
— ‘Because we find it zazpossible to conceive that a tree 
can be anything else than a tree or not atree.’ This, 
I repeat, is Mr. Mill’s sole answer; he will not fre- 
tend to suggest another; and yet, by his own showing, 
his answer is clearly no answer at all; for has he not 


14 


EUREKA 


already required us to admit, as az axiom, that ability 
or inability to conceive is 2 2o case to be taken as a 
criterion of axiomatic truth? Thus all, absolutely a//, 
his argumentation is at sea without arudder. Let it 
not be urged that an exception from the general rule 
is to be made, in cases where the ‘impossibility to 
conceive’ is so peculiarly great as when we are called 
upon to conceive a tree doth a tree and xof a tree. 
Let no attempt, I say, be made at urging this sotti- 
cism; for, in the first place, there are no degrees of 
‘impossibility,’ and thus no one impossible conception 
can be more peculiarly impossible than another im- 
possible conception; in the second place, Mr. Mill 
himself —no doubt after thorough deliberation — has 
most distinctly and most rationally excluded all op- 
portunity for exception, by the emphasis of his pro- 
position, that, zz no case, is ability or inability to 
conceive to be taken as a criterion of axiomatic truth; 
in the third place, even were exceptions admissible at 
all, it remains to be shown how any exception is 
admissible feve. That atree can be both a tree and 
not a tree, is an idea which the angels, or the devils, 
may entertain, and which no doubt many an earthly 
Bedlamite, or Transcendentalist, does. 

“‘ Now I do not quarrel with these ancients,” contin- 
ues the letter-writer, “so much on account of the 
transparent frivolity of their logic— which, to be 
plain, was baseless, worthless, and fantastic alto- 
gether —as on account of their pompous and infatu- 
ate proscription of all other roads to Truth than the 
two narrow and crooked paths— the one of creeping 
and the other of crawling —to which, in their igno- 
rant perversity, they have dared to confine the Soul — 
the Soul which loves nothing so well as to soar in 


15 


EUREKA 


those regions of illimitable intuition which are utterly 
incognizant of ‘path.’ 

“ By the bye, my dear friend, is it not an evidence 
of the mental slavery entailed upon those bigoted 
people by their Hogs and Rams, that, in spite of the 
eternal prating of their savants about voads to Truth, 
none of them fell, even by accident, into what we 
now so distinctly perceive to be the broadest, the 
straightest, and most available of all mere roads — 
the great thoroughfare — the majestic highway of the 
Consistent? Is it not wonderful that they should 
have failed to deduce from the works of God the 
vitally momentous consideration that a perfect consis- 
tency can be nothing but an absolute truth? How 
plain —how rapid our progress since the late an- 
nouncement of this proposition! By its means, inves- 
tigation has been taken out of the hands of the 
ground moles, and given as a duty, rather than asa 
task, to the true, to the ov/ly true, thinkers — to the 
generally educated men of ardent imagination. These 
latter —our Keplers, our Laplaces — ‘speculate ’ — 
‘theorize ’— these are the terms; can you not fancy 
the shout of scorn with which they would be received 
by our progenitors, were it possible for them to be 
looking over my shoulders as I write? The Keplers, 
I repeat, speculate — theorize — and their theories 
are merely corrected — reduced — sifted — cleared, 
little by little, of their chaff of inconsistency — until 
at length there stands apparent an unencumbered 
Consistency —a consistency which the most stolid 
admit, because it zs a consistency, to be an absolute 
and unquestionable Zruth. 

“‘T have often thought, my friend, that it must have 
puzzled these dogmaticians of a thousand years ago 

16 


EUREKA 


to determine, even, by which of their two boasted 
roads it is that the cryptographist attains the solu- 
tion of the more complicated ciphers ; or by which of 
them Champollion guided mankind to those important 
and innumerable truths which, for so many centuries, 
have lain entombed amid the phonetical hieroglyphics 
of Egypt. In especial, would it not have given these 
bigots some trouble to determine by which of their 
two roads was reached the most momentous and sub- 
lime of a// their truths — the truth, the fact, of gravz- 
tation? Newton deduced it from the laws of Kepler. 
Kepler admitted that these laws he guessed — these 
laws whose investigation disclosed to the greatest of 
British astronomers that principle, the basis of all 
(existing) physical principle, in going behind which 
we enter at once the nebulous kingdom of Metaphy- 
sics. Yes! these vital laws Kepler guessed, that is 
to say, he zmagined them. Had he been asked to 
point out either the deductive or zzductive route by 
which he attained them, his reply might have been — 
‘IT know nothing about vouwfes, but I do know the 
machinery of the Universe. Here it is. I grasped 
it with wy soul, I reached it through mere dint of zz- 
tuition.’ Alas, poor ignorant old man! Could not any 
metaphysician have told him that what he called ‘ in- 
tuition’ was but the conviction resulting from deduc- 
tions or zzductions of which the processes were so 
shadowy as to have escaped his consciousness, eluded 
his reason, or bidden defiance to his capacity of ex- 
pression? How great a pity it is that some ‘ moral 
philosopher ’ had not enlightened him about all this ! 
How it would have comforted him on his death-bed 
to know that, instead of having gone intuitively and 
thus unbecomingly, he had, in fact, proceeded deco- 
VOL. IX.—2 17 


EUREKA 


rously and legitimately — that is to say, Hog-ishly, 
or at least Ram-ishly — into the vast halls where lay 
gleaming, untended, and hitherto untouched by mortal 
hand, unseen by mortal eye, the imperishable and 
priceless secrets of the Universe! 

“Yes, Kepler was essentially a ftheorist; but this 
title, zow of so much sanctity, was, in those ancient 
days, a designation of supreme contempt. It is only 
now that men begin to appreciate that divine old 
man — to sympathize with the prophetical and poeti- 
cal rhapsody of his ever memorable words. For my 
part,”’ continues the unknown correspondent, “I glow 
with a sacred fire when I even think of them, and 
feel that I shall never grow weary of their repetition ; 
—in concluding this letter, let me have the real 
pleasure of transcribing them once again: —‘J care 
not whether my work be read now or by posterity. 
I can afford to wait a century for readers when God 
himself has waited six thousand years for an observer. 
I triumph. I have stolen the golden secret of the 
Egyptians. I will indulge my sacred fury.” 

Here end my quotations from this very unaccount- 
able if not impertinent epistle; and perhaps it would 
be folly to comment, in any respect, upon the chimeri- 
cal, not to say revolutionary, fancies of the writer — 
whoever he is; fancies so radically at war with the 
well-considered and well-settled opinions of this age. 
Let us proceed, then, to our legitimate thesis, Zhe 
Universe. 

This thesis admits a choice between two modes of 
discussion: — We may ascend or descend. Beginning 
at our own point of view, at the Earth on which we 
stand, we may pass to the other planets of our system, 
thence to the Sun, thence to our system considered 

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collectively, and thence, through other systems, in- 
definitely outwards; or, commencing on high at some 
point as definite as we can make it or conceive 
it, we may come down to the habitation of Man. 
Usually, that is to say, in ordinary essays on Astron- 
omy, the first of these two modes is, with certain 
reservations, adopted: this for the obvious reason 
that astronomical facts, merely, and principles, being 
the object, that object is best fulfilled in stepping 
from the known because proximate, gradually onward 
to the point where all certitude becomes lost in the 
remote. For my present purpose, however, that of 
enabling the mind to take in, as if from afar and 
at one glance, a distant conception of the zxdividual 
Universe, it is clear that a descent to small from 
great — to the outskirts from the centre (if we could 
establish a centre)— to the end from the beginning 
(if we could fancy a beginning) — would be the prefer- 
able course, but for the difficulty, if not impossibility, 
of presenting, in this course, to the unastronomical, 
a picture at all comprehensible in regard to such con- 
siderations as are involved in guantity — that is to 
say, in number, magnitude, and distance. 

Now, distinctness — intelligibility, at all points, is a 
primary feature in my general design. On important 
topics it is better to be a good deal prolix than even a 
very little obscure. But abstruseness is a quality ap- 
pertaining to no subject in itself. All are alike, in 
facility of comprehension, to him who approaches 
them by properly graduated steps. It is merely be- 
cause a stepping-stone, here and there, is heedlessly 
left unsupplied in our road to Differential Calculus, 
that this latter is not altogether as simple a thing as a 
sonnet by Mr. Solomon Seesaw. 


19 


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By way of admitting, then, no chance for misappre- 
hension, I think it advisable to proceed as if even the 
more obvious facts of Astronomy were unknown to the 
reader. In combining the two modes of discussion 
to which I have referred, I propose to avail myself 
of the advantages peculiar to each, and very espe- 
cially of the zteration in detatl which will be unavoid- 
able as a consequence of the plan. Commencing with 
a descent, I shall reserve for the return upwards those 
indispensable considerations of guantity to which 
allusion has already been made. | 

Let us begin, then, at once, with that merest of 
words, “Infinity.” This, like ‘‘God,” “spirit,” and 
some other expressions of which the equivalents exist 
in all languages, is by no means the expression of an 
idea, but of an effort at one. It stands for the possi- 
ble attempt at an impossible conception. Man needed 
a term by which to point out the drection of this 
effort —the cloud behind which lay, forever invisible, 
the object of this attempt. A word, in fine, was de- 
manded, by means of which one human being might 
put himself in relation at once with another human 
being and with a certain fexdency of the human intel- 
lect. Out of this demand arose the word “ Infinity; ” 
which is thus the representative but of the thought of 
a thought. 

As regards shat infinity now considered — the infin- 
ity of space —we often hear it said that “its idea is 
admitted by the mind, is acquiesced in, is entertained, 
on account of the greater difficulty which attends the 
conception of a limit.” But this is merely one of 
those Dhrases by which even profound thinkers, time 
out of mind, have occasionally taken pleasure in de- 
ceiving themselves. ‘The quibble lies concealed in the 

20 


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word ‘“ difficulty.” “The mind,” we are told, “en- 
tertains the idea of J/émztless, through the greater 
difficulty which it finds in entertaining that of /émzted, 
space.” Now, were the proposition but fairly Azz, its 
absurdity would become transparent at once. Clearly, 
there is no mere difficulty in the case. The assertion 
intended, if presented according to its intention, and 
without sophistry, would run thus: — “The mind 
admits the idea of limitless, through the greater 
tmposstbility of entertaining that of limited, space.” 

It must be immediately seen that this is not a 
question of two statements between whose respective 
credibilities — or of two arguments between whose 
respective validities —the veason is called upon to 
decide; it is a matter of two conceptions, directly 
conflicting, and each avowedly impossible, one of 
which the zzfel/ect is supposed to be capable of enter- 
taining, on account of the greater zwfossibility of 
entertaining the other. The choice is zof made be- 
tween two difficulties ; it is merely fauczed to be made 
between two impossibilities. Now of the former, 
there ave degrees, but of the latter, none; just as our 
impertinent letter-writer has already suggested. <A 
task may be more or less difficult ; but it is either pos- 
sible or not possible—there are no gradations. It 
might be more difficult to overthrow the Andes than 
an ant-hill; but it can be no more zwosszible to an- 
nihilate the matter of the one than the matter of the 
other. A man may jump ten feet with less difficulty 
than he can jump twenty, but the zwzposszbility of his 
leaping to the moon is not a whit less than that of his 
leaping to the dog-star. 

Since all this is undeniable; since the choice of the 
mind is to be made between zmposszbzlities of concep- 

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tion; since one impossibility cannot be greater than 
another; and since, thus, one cannot be preferred to 
another: the philosophers who not only maintain, on 
the grounds mentioned, man’s zdea of infinity but, on 
account of such supposititious idea, zzfinzty ztself, are 
plainly engaged in demonstrating one impossible thing 
to be possible by showing how it is that some one 
other thing —is impossible too, This, it will be said, 
is nonsense, and perhaps it is; indeed I think it very 
capital nonsense, but forego all claim to it as nonsense 
of mine. 

The readiest mode, however, of displaying the fal- 
lacy of the philosophical argument on this question, is 
by simply adverting to a fact respecting it which has 
been hitherto quite overlooked —the fact that the 
argument alluded to both proves and disproves its own 
proposition. “The mind is impelled,” say the theo- 
logians and others, “to admit a Fzrst Cause, by the 
superior difficulty it experiences in conceiving cause 
beyond cause without end.” The quibble, as before, 
lies in the word “difficulty ;” but Zeve what is it em- 
ployed to sustain? A First Cause. And what is a 
First Cause? An ultimate termination of causes. 
And what is an ultimate termination of causes? 
Finity —the Finite. Thus the one quibble, in two 
processes, by God knows how many philosophers, is 
made to support now Finity and now Infinity; could 
it not be brought to support something besides? As 
for the quibbles, ¢#ey, at least, are insupportable. But, 
to dismiss them; what they prove in the one case is the 
identical nothing which they demonstrate in the other. 

Of course, no one will suppose that I here contend 
for the absolute impossibility of ¢2a¢t which we attempt 
to convey in the word “Infinity.” My purpose is but 

2404 . 


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to show the folly of endeavoring to prove Infinity 
itself, or even our conception of it, by any such 
blundering ratiocination as that which is ordinarily 
employed. 

Nevertheless, as an individual, I may be permitted 
to say that I cannot conceive Infinity, and am con- 
vinced that no human being can. A mind not 
thoroughly self-conscious, not accustomed to the in- 
trospective analysis of its own operations, will, it is 
true, often deceive itself by supposing that it has 
entertained the conception of which we speak. In 
the effort to entertain it, we proceed step beyond step, 
we fancy point still beyond point; and so long as we 
continue the effort, it may be said, in fact, that we are 
tending to the formation of the idea designed; while 
the strength of the impression that we actually form 
or have formed it, is in the ratio of the period during 
which we keep up the mental endeavor. But it is in 
the act of discontinuing the endeavor —of fulfilling 
(as we think) the idea—of putting the finishing 
stroke (as we suppose) to the conception—that we 
overthrow at once the whole fabric of our fancy by 
resting upon some one ultimate, and therefore definite, 
point. This fact, however, we fail to perceive, on 
account of the absolute coincidence, in time, between 
the settling down upon the ultimate point and the 
act of cessation in thinking. In attempting, on 
the other hand, to frame the idea of a /zmzted space, 
we merely converse the processes which involve the 
impossibility. 

We believe ina God. We may or may not believe 
in finite or in infinite space; but our belief, in such 
cases, is more properly designated as fazth, and is a 
matter quite distinct from that belief proper — from 


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that zz¢ellectual belief — which aa) the mental 
conception. 

The fact is, that, upon the enunciation of any one 
of that class of terms to which “ Infinity ” belongs — 
the class representing thoughts of thought— he who 
has a right to say that he thinks at ad/, feels himself 
called on, zo¢ to entertain a conception, but simply to 
direct his mental vision toward some given point in 
the intellectual firmament, where lies a nebula never 
to be solved. To solve it, indeed, he makes no effort; 
for with a rapid instinct he comprehends, not only 
the impossibility, but, as regards all human purposes, 
the zuessentiality of its solution. He perceives that 
the Deity has not deszgned it to be solved. He sees, 
at once, that it lies owt of the brain of man, and even 
how, if not exactly why, it lies out of it. There ave 
people, I am aware, who, busying themselves in at- 
tempts at the unattainable, acquire very easily, by dint 
of the jargon they emit, among those thinkers-that- 
they-think with whom darkness and depth are synony- 
mous, a kind of cuttle-fish reputation for profundity; 
but the finest quality of Thought is its self-cogni- 
zance; and, with some little equivocation, it may be 
said that no fog of the mind can well be greater than 
that which, extending to the very boundaries of the 
mental domain, shuts out even these boundaries 
themselves from comprehension. 

It will now be understood that in using the phrase, 
“Infinity of Space,’’ I make no call upon the reader 
to entertain the impossible conception of an absolute 
infinity. I refer simply to the “ w¢most concetvable 
expanse’ of space —a shadowy and fluctuating do- 
main, now shrinking, now swelling, with the vacillat- 
ing energies of the imagination. 

24 


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Hitherto, the Universe of Stars has always been 
considered coincident with the Universe proper, as I 
have defined it in the commencement of this Dis- 
course. It has been always either directly or indi- 
rectly assumed — at least since the dawn of intelligible 
Astronomy —that, were it possible for us to attain 
any given point in space, we should still find, on all 
sides of us, an interminable succession of stars. This 
was the untenable idea of Pascal when making per- 
haps the most successful attempt ever made, at peri- 
phrasing the conception for which we struggle in the 
word “ Universe.” “It is asphere,” he says, “of which ; 
the centre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere.” 
But although this intended definition is, in fact, xo 
definition of the Universe of Stars, we may accept it, 
with some mental reservation, as a definition (rigorous 
enough for all practical purposes) of the Universe 
proper — that is to say, of the Universe of space. This 
latter, then, let us regard as “a sphere of which the 
centre ts everywhere, the circumference nowhere.” In 
fact, while we find it impossible to fancy an end to 
space, we have no difficulty in picturing to ourselves 
any one of an infinity of beginnings. 

As our starting-point, then, let us adopt the Godhead. 
Of this Godhead, zz ztseZf, he alone is not imbecile, 
he alone is not impious, who propounds — nothing. 
“ Vous me connaissons rien,” says the Baron de 
Bielfeld — “ Vous ne connaissons rien de la nature ou 
de Vessence de Dieu: pour savoir ce qwil est, tl faut 
étre Dieu méme.” — “ We know absolutely xothing of 
the nature or essence of God: in order to compre- 
hend what He is, we should have to be God ourselves.” 

“ We should have to be God ourselves!” — With a 
phrase so startling as this yet ringing in my ears, I 


25 


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nevertheless venture to demand if this our present 
ignorance of the Deity is an ignorance to which the 
soul is everlastingly condemned. 

By Him, however —xow, at least, the Incompre- 
hensible — by Him, assuming Him as S#z77z, that is to 
say, as mot JZattey — a distinction which, for all intel- 
ligible purposes, will stand well instead of a definition 
— by Him, then, existing as Spirit, let us content our- 
selves with supposing to have been created, or made 
out of Nothing, by dint of His Volition, at some point 
of Space which we will take as a centre, at some 
period into which we do not pretend to inquire, but at 
all events immensely remote — by Him, then again, 
let us suppose to have been created —what? This 
is a vitally momentous epoch in our considerations. 
What is it that we are justified, that alone we are 
justified, in supposing to have been primarily created ? 

We have attained a point where only /zfuztion can 
aid us; but now let me recur to the idea which I have 
already suggested as that alone which we can properly 
entertain of intuition. It is but the conviction arising 
From those inductions or deductions of which the pro- 
cesses are so shadowy as to escape our consciousness, 
elude our reason, or defy our capactty of expression. 
With this understanding, I now assert that an intui- 
tion altogether irresistible, although inexpressible, 
forces me to the conclusion that what God originally 
created — that that Matter which, by dint of His Voli- 
tion, He first made from His Spirit, or from Nihility, 
could have been nothing but Matter in its utmost 
conceivable state of — what ? — of SzAlicity. 

This will be found the sole absolute assumption of 
my Discourse. I use the word “assumption” in its 
ordinary sense; yet 1 maintain that even this my pri- 

26 


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mary proposition is very far indeed from being really 
a mere assumption. Nothing was ever more certainly 
—no human conclusion was ever, in fact, more regu- 
larly —more rigorously deduced ; but, alas! the pro- 
cesses lie out of the human analysis — at all events 
are beyond the utterance of the human tongue. If, 
however, in the course of this Essay I succeed in 
showing that out of Matter in its extreme of Sim- 
plicity all things #déght have been, we reach directly 
the inference that they were, thus constructed, through 
the impossibility of attributing supererogation to 
Omnipotence. 

Let us now endeavor to conceive what Matter must 
be, when, or if, in its absolute extreme of Szmplictty. 
Here the Reason flies at once to Imparticularity — to 
a particle — to ove particle —a particle of owe kind — 
of ove character — of ome nature —of one size —of 
one form —a particle, therefore, “qwzthout form and 
void ” — a particle positively a particle at all points —- 
a particle absolutely unique, individual, undivided, 
and not indivisible only because He who created it 
by dint of His Will can by an infinitely less energetic 
exercise of the same Will, as a matter of course, 
divide it. 

Oneness, then, is all that I predicate of the originally 
created Matter; but I propose to show that this 
Oneness ts a principle abundantly sufficient to account 
for the constitution, the existing phenomena, and the 
plainly inevitable annihilation, of at least the mate- 
vial Universe. 

The willing into being the primordial Particle has 
completed the act, or more properly the conception, of 
Creation. We now proceed to the ultimate purpose 
for which we are to suppose the Particle created — 

27 


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that is to say, the ultimate purpose so far as our con- 
siderations yet enable us to see it— the constitution 
of the Universe from it, the Particle. 

This constitution has been effected by forcing the 
originally and therefore normally Ove into the abnor- 
mal condition of JZazy. An action of this character 
implies reaction. A diffusion from Unity, under the 
conditions, involves a tendency to return into Unity 
—a tendency ineradicable until satisfied. But on 
these points I will speak more fully hereafter. 

The assumption of absolute Unity in the primordial 
Particle includes that of infinite divisibility.1 Let us 
conceive the Particle, then, to be only not totally ex- 
hausted by diffusion into Space. From the one 
Particle, as a centre, let us suppose to be radiated 
spherically — in all directions — to immeasurable but 
still definite distances in the previously vacant Space 
—a certain inexpressibly great yet limited number of 
unimaginably yet not infinitely minute atoms. 

Now, of these atoms, thus diffused, or on diffusion, 
what conditions are we permitted — not to assume, 
but to infer, from consideration as well of their source 
as of the character of the design apparent in their 
diffusion? Unzty being their source, and difference 
From Unity the character of the design manifested in 
their diffusion, we are warranted in supposing this 
character to be at least generally preserved through- 
out the design, and to form a portion of the design 
itself; that is to say, we shall be warranted in con- 
ceiving continual differences at all points from the 
uniquity and simplicity of the origin. But, for these 
reasons, shall we be justified in imagining the atoms 


1 Show this in another edition. — Poe's Manuscript Note. 


28 


% 


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heterogeneous, dissimilar, unequal, and inequidistant? 
More explicitly — are we to consider no two atoms as, 
at their diffusion, of the same nature, or of the same 
form, or of the same size? — and, after fulfilment of 
their diffusion into Space, is absolute inequidistance, 
each from each, to be understood of all of them? In 
such arrangement, under such conditions, we most 
easily and immediately comprehend the subsequent 
most feasible carrying out to completion of any such 
design as that which I have suggested —the design 
of multiplicity out of unity — diversity out of sameness 
— heterogeneity out of homogeneity — complexity out 
of simplicity —in a word, the utmost possible multi- 
plicity of relation out of the emphatically irrelative 
One. Undoubtedly, therefore, we should be warranted 
in assuming all that has been mentioned, but for the 
reflection, first, that supererogation is not presumable 
of any Divine Act; and, secondly, that the object 
supposed in view appears as feasible when some of 
the conditions in question are dispensed with, in the 
beginning, as when all are understood immediately to 
exist. I mean to say that some are involved in the 
rest, or so instantaneous a consequence of them as to 
make the distinction inappreciable. Difference of size, 
for example, will at once be brought about through 
the tendency of one atom toa second, in preference 
to a third, on account of particular inequidistance ; 
which is to be comprehended as particular tnequt- 
distances between centres of quantity, in neighboring 
atoms of different form —a matter not at all inter- 
fering with the generally-equable distribution of the 
atoms. Difference of £274, too, is easily conceived to 
be merely a result of differences in size and form, taken 
more or less conjointly ; — in fact, since the Uzty of 


29 


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the Particle Proper implies absolute homogeneity, we 
cannot imagine the atoms, at their diffusion, differing 
in kind, without imagining, at the same time, a special 
exercise of the Divine Will at the emission of each 
atom, for the purpose of effecting in each a change 
of its essential nature ;— and so fantastic an idea is 
the less to be indulged, as the object proposed is seen 
to be thoroughly attainable without such minute and 
elaborate interposition. We perceive, therefore, on 
the whole, that it would be supererogatory, and con- 
sequently unphilosophical, to predicate of the atoms, 
in view of their purposes, anything more than af 
ference of form at their dispersion, with particular in- 
equidistance after it —all other differences arising 
at once out of these, in thevery first processes of 
mass-constitution. We thus establish the Universe 
on a purely geometrical basis. Of course, it is by no 
means necessary to assume absolute difference, even 
of form, among a@// the atoms radiated — any more 
than absolute particular inequidistance of each from 
each. We are required to conceive merely that no 
neighboring atoms are of similar form —no atoms 
which can ever approximate, until their inevitable 
reunition at the end. 

Although the immediate and perpetual fendency of 
the disunited atoms to return into their normal 
Unity is implied, as I have said, in their abnormal 
diffusion, still it is clear that this tendency will be 
without consequence —a tendency and no more — 
until the diffusive energy, in ceasing to be exerted, 
shall leave 7z¢, the tendency, free to seek its satis- 
faction. The Divine Act, however, being considered 
as determinate, and discontinued on fulfilment of the 
diffusion, we understand, at once, a veaction —in 


30 


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other words, a sazisfiable tendency of the disunited 
atoms to return into Oxe. 

But the diffusive energy being withdrawn, and the 
reaction having commenced in furtherance of the 
ultimate design — that of the utmost possible Relation 
— this design is now in danger of being frustrated, in 
detail, by reason of that very tendency to return 
which is to effect its accomplishment in general. 
Multiplicity is the object; but there is nothing to 
prevent proximate atoms from lapsing af once, through 
the now satisfiable tendency — defore the fulfilment of 
any ends proposed in multiplicity — into absolute one- 
ness among themselves; there is nothing to impede 
the aggregation of various wzzgue masses, at various 
points of space,—in other words, nothing to inter- 
fere with the accumulation of various masses, each 
absolutely One. 

For the effectual completion of the general design, 
we thus see the necessity for a repulsion of limited 
capacity —a separative something which, on _ with- 
drawal of the diffusive Volition, shall at the same time “ 
allow the approach, and forbid the junction, of the 
atoms; suffering them infinitely to approximate, 
while denying them positive contact; in a word, hav- 
ing the power — up fo a certain epoch — of preventing 
their coalition, but no ability to interfere with their 
coalescence in any respect or degree. The repulsion, 
already considered as so peculiarly limited in other 
regards, must be understood, let me repeat, as having 
power to prevent absolute coalition, only up to a certain 
epoch. Unless we are to conceive that the appetite 
for Unity among the atoms is doomed to be satisfied 
never » unless we are to conceive that what had a 
beginning is to have no end—a conception which 


3I 


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cannot vea/ly be entertained, however much we may 
talk or dream of entertaining it—we are forced to 
conclude that the repulsive influence imagined will, 
finally, under pressure of the Uni-tendency collectively 
applied, but never and in no degree wzz/Zz/, on fulfil- 
ment of the Divine purposes, such collective appli- 
cation shall be naturally made, yield to a force which, 
at that ultimate epoch, shall be the superior force 
precisely to the extent required, and thus permit the 
universal subsidence into the inevitable, because 
original and therefore normal, Oze. The conditions 
here to be reconciled are difficult indeed; we cannot 
even comprehend the possibility of their conciliation ; 
nevertheless, the apparent impossibility is brilliantly 
suggestive. 

That the repulsive something actually exists, we see. 
Man neither employs, nor knows, a force sufficient to 
bring two atoms into contact. This is but the well- 
established proposition of the impenetrability of mat- 
ter. All Experiment proves, all Philosophy admits, 
it. The destgn of the repulsion — the necessity for its 
existence —I have endeavored to show, but from all 
attempt at investigating its nature have religiously 
abstained; this on account of an intuitive conviction 
that the principle at issue is strictly spiritual —lies in 
a recess impervious to our present understanding — 
lies involved in a consideration of what now, in our 
human state, is zo¢ to be considered — in a consider- 
ation of Spirit in itself. I feel, in a word, that here 
the God has interposed, and here only, because here 
and here only the knot demanded the interposition of 
the God. ; 

In fact, while the tendency of the diffused atoms to 
return into Unity will be recognized, at once, as the 


32 


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principle of the Newtonian Gravity, what I have 
spoken of as a repulsive influence prescribing limits to 
the (immediate) satisfaction of the tendency, will be 
understood as ¢#at which we have been in the practice 
of designating now as heat, now as magnetism, now as 
electricity ; displaying our ignorance of its awful char- 
acter in the vacillation of the phraseology with which 
we endeavor to circumscribe it. 

Calling it, merely for the moment, electricity, we 
know that all experimental analysis of electricity has 
given, as an ultimate result, the principle, or seeming 
principle, heterogeneity. Only where things differ, is 
electricity apparent; and it is presumable that they 
never differ where it is not developed at least, if not 
apparent. Now, this result is in the fullest keeping 
with that which I have reached unempirically. The 
design of the repulsive influence I have suggested to 
be that of preventing immediate Unity among the 
diffused atoms; and these atoms are represented as | 
different each from each. Dzfference is their character 
—their essentiality—just as xo-difference was the 
essentiality of their source. When we say, then, 
that an attempt to bring any two of these atoms 
together would induce an effort, on the part of the 
repulsive influence, to prevent the contact, we may as 
well use the strictly convertible sentence that an at- 
tempt to bring together any two differences will result 
in a development of electricity. All existing bodies, 
of course, are composed of these atoms in proximate 
contact, and are therefore to be considered as mere 
assemblages of more or fewer differences; and the 
resistance made by the repulsive spirit, on bringing 
together any two such assemblages, would be in the 
ratio of the two sums of the differences in each, — an 

VOL. IX. — 3 333 


EUREKA 


expression which, when reduced, is equivalent to this: 
The amount of electricity developed on the approxt- 
matton of two bodies ts proportional with the differ- 
ence between the respective sums of the atoms of which 
the bodies are composed. ‘That no two bodies are 
absolutely alike, is a simple corollary from all that has 
been here said. Electricity, therefore, existing always, 
is developed whenever any bodies, but manifested only 
when bodies of appreciable difference, are brought 
into approximation. 

To electricity —so, for the present, continuing to 
call it — we may not be wrong in referring the various 
physical appearances of light, heat, and magnetism; 
but far less shall we be liable to err in attributing to 
this strictly spiritual principle the more important 
phenomena of vitality, consciousness, and Thought. 
On this topic, however, I need pause eve merely to 
suggest that these phenomena, whether observed gen- 
erally or in detail, seem to proceed at least in the ratio 
of the heterogeneous. 

Discarding now the two equivocal terms, “ gravita- 
tion” and “electricity,” let us adopt the more definite 
expressions, “ Aztraction” and “ Repulsion.” The 
former is the body, the latter the soul; the one is the 
material, the other the spiritual, principle of the 
Universe. Vo other principles exist. All phenom- 
ena are referable to one, or to the other, or to both 
combined. So rigorously is this the case, so thor- 
oughly demonstrable is it that Attraction and Repul- 
sion are the so/e properties through which we perceive 
the Universe —in other words, by which Matter is 
manifested to Mind — that, for all merely argumen- 
tative purposes, we are fully justified in assuming that 
Matter exzsts only as Attraction and Repulsion — that 


34 


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Attraction and Repulsion ave matter; there being no 
conceivable case in which we may not employ the 
term “Matter” and the terms “Attraction” and 
-“ Repulsion,” taken together, as equivalent, and there- 
fore convertible, expressions in Logic. 

I said, just now, that what I have described as the 
tendency of the diffused atoms to return into their 
original Unity would be understood as the principle 
of the Newtonian law of Gravity; and, in fact, there 
can be but little difficulty in such an understanding, if 
we look at the Newtonian Gravity in a merely general 
view, as a force impelling Matter to seek Matter; that 
is to say, when we pay no attention to the known 
modus operandi of the Newtonian force. The gen- 
eral coincidence satisfies us; but, on looking closely, 
we see, in detail, much that appears zzcoincident, and 
much in regard to which no coincidence, at least, is 
established. For example: the Newtonian Gravity, | 
when we think of it in certain moods, does of seem 
to be a tendency to oneness at all, but rather a ten- 
dency of all bodies in all directions —a phrase appar- 
ently expressive of a tendency to diffusion. Here, 
then, is an zzcoincidence. Again; when we reflect on 
the mathematical aw governing the Newtonian ten- 
dency, we see clearly that no coincidence has been 
made good, in respect of the #odus operandi, at least, 
between Gravity as known to exist and that seemingly 
simple and direct tendency which I have assumed. 

In fact, I have attained a point at which it will be 
advisable to strengthen my position by reversing my 
processes. So far, we have gone on a frzori, from an 
abstract consideration of Szmflicity, as that quality 
most likely to have characterized the original action of 
God. Let us now see whether the established facts 


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of the Newtonian Gravitation may not afford us, @ 
postertorz, some legitimate inductions. 

What does the Newtonian law declare? That all 
bodies attract each other with forces proportional with 
their quantities of matter and inversely proportional 
with the squares of their distances. Purposely, I have 
given, in the first place, the vulgar version of the law; 
and I confess that in this, as in most other vulgar 
versions of great truths, we find little of a suggestive 
character. Let us now adopt a more philosophical 
phraseology:— Every atom, of every body, attracts 
every other atom, both of tts own and of every other 
body, with a force which varies inversely as the 
squares of the distances between the attracting and 
attracted atom. Here, indeed, a flood of suggestion 
bursts upon the mind. 

But let us see distinctly what it was that Newton 
proved —according to the grossly irrational definitions 
of froof prescribed by the metaphysical schools. He 
was forced to content himself with showing how thor- 
oughly the motions of an imaginary Universe, com- 
posed of attracting and attracted atoms obedient to 
the law he announced, coincide with those of the 
actually existing Universe so far as it comes under our 
observation. This was the amount of his demonstra- 
tion; that is to say, this was the amount of it, accord- 
ing to the conventional cant of the ‘“ philosophies.” 
His successors added proof multiplied by proof — such 
proof as a sound intellect admits — but the demonstra- 
tion of the law itself, persist the metaphysicians, had 
not been strengthened in any degree. ‘“ Ocular, phy- 
sical proof,” however, of Attraction, here upon Earth, 
in accordance with the Newtonian theory, was at 
length, much to the satisfaction cf some intellectual 

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grovellers, afforded. This proof arose collaterally and 
incidentally (as nearly all important truths have arisen) 
out of an attempt to ascertain the mean density of the 
Earth. In the famous Maskelyne, Cavendish, and 
Bailly experiments for this purpose, the attraction of 
the mass of a mountain ! was seen, felt, measured, and 
found to be mathematically consistent with the theory 
of the British astronomer. 

But in spite of this confirmation of that which needed 
none, in spite of the so-called corroboration of the 
“theory ” by the so-called “ ocular and physical proof,” 
in spite of the character of this corroboration, the 
ideas which even really philosophical men cannot help 
imbibing of Gravity — and, especially, the ideas of it 
which ordinary men get and contentedly maintain — are 
seen to have been derived, for the most part, from a 
consideration of the principle as they find it developed 
merely in the planet on which they stand. 

Now, to what does so partial a consideration tend 
—to what species of error does it give rise? On the 
Earth we see and feel only that Gravity impels all 
bodies towards the centre of the Earth. No man in 
the common walks of life could be made to see or feel 
anything else—could be made to perceive that any- 
thing, anywhere, has a perpetual, gravitating tendency 
in any other direction than to the centre of the Earth; 
yet (with an exception hereafter to be specified) it is 
a fact that every earthly thing (not to speak now of 
every heavenly thing) has a tendency not oz/y to the 
Earth’s centre but in every conceivable direction 
besides. 

Now, although the philosophic cannot be said to evr 
with the vulgar in this matter, they nevertheless per- 


1 Schehallien, in Wales. — Poe's Manuscript Note. 
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mit themselves to be influenced, without knowing it, 
by the sextiment of the vulgar idea. “ Although the 
Pagan fables are not believed,” says Bryant, in his 
very erudite “ Mythology,” “yet we forget ourselves 
continually, and make inferences from them as from 
existing realities.” I mean to assert that the merely 
sensitive perception of Gravity, as we experience it on 
Earth, beguiles mankind into the fancy of concentra- 
lization or especiality respecting it—has been contin- 
ually biassing towards this fancy even the mightiest 
intellects — perpetually, although imperceptibly, lead- 
ing them away from the real characteristics of the 
principle; thus preventing them, up to this date, from 
ever getting a glimpse of that vital truth which lies in 
a diametrically opposite direction — behind the prin- 
ciple’s essential characteristics — those, zot¢ of concen- 
tralization or especiality, but of wzzversality and diffu- 
ston. This “vital truth” is Unzty as the source of the 
phenomenon. 

Let me now repeat the definition of Gravity: — 
Every atom, of every body, attracts every other atom, 
both of tts own and of every other body, with a force 
which varies inversely as the squares of the distances 
of the attracting and attracted atom. 

Here let the reader pause with me, for a moment, 
in contemplation of the miraculous, of the ineffable, 
of the altogether unimaginable, complexity of relation 
involved in the fact that each atom attracts every 
other atom; involved merely in this fact of the Attrac- 
tion, without reference to the law or mode in which 
the Attraction is manifested; involved szerely in the 
fact that each atom attracts every other atom a¢ a//, 
in a wilderness of atoms so numerous that those which 
go to the composition of a cannon-ball exceed, proba- 


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bly, in mere point of number, all the stars which go to 
the constitution of the Universe. 

Had we discovered, simply, that each atom tends to 
some one point, a favorite with all, we should still 
have fallen upon a discovery which, in itself, would 
have sufficed to overwhelm the mind; but what is it 
that we are actually called on to comprehend? That 
each atom attracts — sympathizes with the most deli- 
cate movements of every other atom, and with each 
and with all at the same time, and forever, and accord- 
ing to a determinate law of which the complexity, 
even considered by itself solely, is utterly beyond the 
grasp of the imagination. If I propose to ascertain 
the influence of one mote in a sunbeam on its neigh- 
boring mote, I cannot accomplish my purpose without 
first counting and weighing all the atoms in the Uni- 
verse, and defining the precise positions of all at one 
particular moment. If I venture to displace, by even 
the billionth part of an inch, the microscopical speck of 
dust which lies now on the point of my finger, what 
is the character of that act upon which I have adven- 
tured? I have done a deed which shakes the Moon 
in her path, which causes the Sun to be no longer the 
Sun, and which alters forever the destiny of the multi- 
tudinous myriads of stars that roll and glow in the 
majestic presence of their Creator. 

These ideas—conceptions such as ¢hese —un- 
thoughtlike thoughts — soul-reveries rather than con- 
clusions or even considerations of the intellect — ideas, 
I repeat, such as these, are such as we can alone hope 
profitably to entertain in any effort at grasping the 
great principle, A ¢traction. 

But now, wtf such ideas, with such a w/szon of the 
marvellous complexity of Attraction fairly in his mind, 


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let any person, competent of thought on such topics 
as these, set himself to the task of imagining a przncz- 
ple for the phenomena observed —a condition from 
which they sprang. 

Does not so evident a brotherhood among the atoms 
point toa common parentage? Does not a sympathy 
so omniprevalent, so ineradicable, and so thoroughly 
irrespective, suggest a common paternity as its source ? 
Does not one extreme impel the reason to the other? 
Does not the infinitude of division refer to the utter- 
ness of individuality? Does not the entireness of the 
complex hint at the perfection of the simple? It is 
not that the atoms, as we see them, are divided, or 
that they are complex in their relations — but that they 
are inconceivably divided and unutterably complex; it 
is the extremeness of the conditions to which I now 
allude, rather than to the conditions themselves. Ina 
word, is it not because the atoms were, at some remote 
epoch of time, even more than together —is it not 
because originally, and therefore normally, they were 
One — that now, in all circumstances, at all points, in 
all directions, by all modes of approach, in all relations 
and. through all conditions, they struggle dack to 
this absolutely, this irrelatively, this unconditionally 
One ? 

Some person may here demand: — “ Why —since 
it is to the Oxze that the atoms struggle back — do we 
not find and define Attraction as ‘merely a general 
tendency to a centre’? — why, in especial, do not your 
atoms, the atoms which you describe as having been 
radiated from a centre, proceed at once, rectilinearly, 
back to the central point of their origin?” 

I reply that ¢hey do; as will be distinctly shown ; 
but that the cause of their so doing is quite irrespective 


40 


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of the centre as such. They all tend rectilinearly 
towards a centre, because of the sphericity with which 
they have been radiated into space. Each atom, 
forming one of a generally uniform globe of atoms, 
finds more atoms in the direction of the centre, of 
course, than in any other, and in that direction, there- 
fore, is impelled —but is zof¢ thus impelled because 
the centre is the point of its origin. It is not to any 
point that the atoms are allied. It is not any docality, 
either in the concrete or in the abstract, to which I 
suppose them bound. Nothing like location was 
conceived as their origin. Their source lies in the 
principle, Vzzty. Ths is their lost parent. TZhzs they 
seek always — immediately — in all directions — wher- 
ever it is even partially to be found; thus appeasing, 
in some measure, the ineradicable tendency, while on 
the way to its absolute satisfaction in the end. It 
follows from all this, that any principle which shall be 
adequate to account for the daw, or modus operandt, 
of the attractive force in general, will account for this 
law in particular; that is to say, any principle which 
will show why the atoms should tend to their general 
centre of radiation with forces inversely proportional 
with the squares of the distances will be admitted as 
satisfactorily accounting, at the same time, for the 
tendency, according to the same law, of these atoms 
_ each to each; — for the tendency to the centre zs merely 
the tendency each to each, and not any tendency toa 
centre as such. Thus it will be seen, also, that the 
establishment of my propositions would involve no 
necessity of modification in the terms of the Newtonian 
definition of Gravity, which declares that each atom 
attracts each other atom and so forth, and declares 
this merely; but (always under the supposition that 


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what I propose be, in the end, admitted) it seems clear 
that some error might occasionally be avoided, in the 
future processes of Science, were a more ample 
phraseology adopted; for instance: —‘“ Each atom 
tends to every other atom, etc., with a force, etc.; the 
general result being a tendency of all, with a similar 
Sorce, to a general centre.” 

The reversal of our processes has thus brought us 
to an identical result; but while in the one process 
Intuition was the starting-point, in the other it was 
the goal. In commencing the former journey I could 
only say that, with an irresistible Intuition, I fe/¢ 
Simplicity to have been made the characteristic of the 
original action of God; —#in ending the latter I can 
only declare that, with an irresistible Intuition, I per- 
ceive Unity to have been the source of the observed phe- 
nomena of the Newtonian Gravity. Thus, according 
to the schools, I rove nothing. So be it;—I design 
but to suggest, and to convince through the suggestion. 
I am proudly aware that there exist many of the most 
profound and cautiously discriminative intellects which 
cannot help being abundantly content with my — 
suggestions. To these intellects—as to my own— 
there is no mathematical demonstration which could 
bring the least additional true Droof of the great Truth 
which I have advanced, the truth of Original Unity 
as the source, as the princtple, of the Universal Phe- 
nomena. For my part I am not so sure that I speak 
and see — I am not so sure that my heart beats and 
that my soul lives; of the rising of to-morrow’s sun — 
a probability that as yet lies in the Future; I do not 
pretend to be one thousandth part as sure, as I am 
of the irretrievably bygone Fact that All Things 
and All Thoughts of Things, with all their ineffable 


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Multiplicity of Relation, sprang at once into being 
from the primordial and irrelative Ovxe. 

Referring to the Newtonian Gravity, Dr. Nichol, 
the eloquent author of “The Architecture of the 
Heavens,” says : —‘“‘In truth we have no reason to 
suppose this great Law, as now revealed, to be the 
ultimate or simplest, and therefore the universal 
and all-comprehensive, form of a great Ordinance. 
The mode in which its intensity diminishes with the 
element of distance has not the aspect of an ultimate 
principle; which always assumes the simplicity and 
self-evidence of those axioms which constitute the 
basis of Geometry.” 

Now, it is quite true that “ultimate principles,” in 
the common understanding of the words, always as- 
sume the simplicity of geometrical axioms — (as for 
“‘ self-evidence,” there is no such thing) — but these 
principles are clearly of “ ultimate ;” in other terms, 
what we are in the habit of calling principles are no 
principles, properly speaking, since there can be but 
one principle, the Volition of God. We have no right 
to assume, then, from what we observe in rules that 
we choose foolishly to name “principles,” anything 
at all in respect to the characteristics of a principle 
proper. The “ultimate principles” of which Dr. 
Nichol speaks as having geometrical simplicity may 
and do have this geometrical turn, as being part and 
parcel of a vast geometrical system, and thus a system 
of simplicity itself; in which, nevertheless, the tray 
ultimate principle is, as we Anow, the consummation 
of the complex — that is to say, of the unintelligible 
— for is it not the Spiritual Capacity of God? 

I quoted Dr. Nichol’s remark, however, not so 
much to question its philosophy, as by way of calling 


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attention to the fact that while all men have ad- 
mitted some principle as existing behind the law of 
Gravity, no attempt has been yet made to point out 
what this principle in particular zs, —if we except, 
perhaps, occasional fantastic efforts at referring it 
to Magnetism, or Mesmerism, or Swedenborgianism, 
or Transcendentalism, or some other equally delicious 
zsm, of the same species, and invariably patronized 
by one and the same species of people. The great 
mind of Newton, while boldly grasping the Law itself, 
shrank from the principle of the Law. The more 
fluent and comprehensive at least, if not the more 
patient and profound, sagacity of Laplace had not 
the courage to attack it. But hesitation on the part 
of these two astronomers it is, perhaps, not so very 
difficult to understand. They, as well as all the first 
class of mathematicians, were mathematicians solely ; 
their intellect at least had a firmly-pronounced mathe- 
matico-physical tone. What lay not distinctly within 
the domain of Physics, or of Mathematics, seemed to 
them either Non-Entity or Shadow. Nevertheless, 
we may well wonder that Leibnitz, who was a marked 
exception to the general rule in these respects, and 
whose mental temperament was a singular admixture 
of the mathematical with the physico-metaphysical, 
did not at once investigate and establish the point 
at issue. Either Newton or Laplace, seeking a princi- 
ple and discovering none fhysical, would have rested 
contentedly in the conclusion that there was abso- 
lutely none; but it is almost impossible to fancy, of 
Leibnitz, that, having exhausted in his search the 
physical dominions, he would not have stepped at 
once, boldly and hopefully, amid his old familiar 
haunts in the kingdom of Metaphysics. Here, in- 


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deed, it is clear that he must have adventured in 
search of the treasure; that he did not find it after 
all, was, perhaps, because his fairy guide, Imagina- 
tion, was not sufficiently well grown, or well educated, 
to direct him aright. 

I observed, just now, that, in fact, there had been 
certain vague attempts at referring Gravity to some 
very uncertain zsvzs. These attempts, however, al! 
though considered bold, and justly so considered, 
looked no farther than to the generality — the merest 
generality — of the Newtonian Law. Its modus ofe- 
rand has never, to my knowledge, been approached 
in the way of an effort at explanation. It is, there- 
fore, with no unwarranted fear of being taken for 
a madman at the outset, and before I can bring my 
propositions fairly to the eye of those who alone 
are competent to decide on them, that I here declare 
the modus operandi of the Law of Gravity to be an 
exceedingly simple and perfectly explicable thing — 
that is to say, when we make our advances towards 
it in just gradations and in the true direction — 
when we regard it from the proper point of view. 

Whether we reach the idea of absolute Uxzty as 
the source of All Things, from a consideration of 
Simplicity as the most probable characteristic of the 
original action of God; whether we arrive at it from an 
inspection of the-universality of relation in the gravi- 
tating phenomena; or whether we attain it as a result 
of the mutual corroboration afforded by both pro- 
cesses; — still, the idea itself, if entertained at all, is 
entertained in inseparable connection with another 
idea — that of the condition of the Universe of Stars 
as we zow perceive it—that is to say, a condition 
of immeasurable diffuston through space... Now, a 


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connection between these two ideas — unity and 
diffusion — cannot be established unless through the 
entertainment of a third idea, that of radiation. 
Absolute Unity being taken as a centre, then the 
existing Universe of Stars is the result of radiation 
from that centre. 

, Now, the laws of radiation are known. They 
are part and parcel of the sphere. They belong to 
the class of indisputable geometrical properties. We 
say of them, “they are true—they are evident.” 
To demand why they are true, would be to demand 
why the axioms are true upon which their demon- 
stration is based. - Nothing is demonstrable, strictly 
speaking ; but if anything de, then the properties — 
the laws in question, are demonstrated. 

But these laws — what do they declare? Radiation 
— how — by what steps does it proceed outwardly 
from a centre? 

From a luminous centre Light issues by radiation ; 
and the quantities of light received upon any given 
plane, supposed to be shifting its position so as to 
be now nearer the centre and now farther from it, 
will be diminished in the same proportion as the 
squares of the distances of the plane from the lumi- 
nous body are increased; and will be increased in 
the same proportion as these squares are diminished. 

The expression of the law may be thus generalized: 
—the number of light-particles (or, if the phrase be 
preferred, the number of light-impressions) received 
upon the shifting plane will be zzversely proportional 
with the squares of the distances of the plane. 
Generalizing yet again, we may say that the diffusion 
—the scattering — the radiation, in a word —is @- 
rectly proportional with the squares of the distances. 

46 


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For example: at the distance B, from the luminous 
centre A, a certain number of particles are so diffused 
as to occupy the surface B. Then at double the 
distance — that is to say, at C— they will be so much 





farther diffused as to occupy four such surfaces; 
at treble the distance, or at D, they will be so much 
farther separated as to occupy nine such surfaces; 
while, at quadruple the distance, or at E, they will 
have become so scattered as to spread themselves 
over sixteen such surfaces —and so on forever. 

In saying, generally, that the radiation proceeds in 
direct proportion with the squares of the distances, 
we use the term radiation to express che degree of the 
diffusion as we proceed outwardly from the centre. 
Conversing the idea, and employing the word “ con- 
centralization,” to express the degree of the drawing 
together as we come back toward the centre from an 
outward position, we may say that concentralization 
proceeds zzversely as the squares of the distances. In 
other words, we have reached the conclusion that, on 
the hypothesis that matter was originally radiated 
from a centre, and is now returning to it, the con- 
centralization, in the return, proceeds exactly as we 
know the force of gravitation to proceed. 

Now here, if we could be permitted to assume that 
concentralization exactly represents the force of the 
tendency to the centre —that the one is exactly pro- 
portional with the other, and that the two proceed 


47 


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together — we should have shown all that is required. 
The sole difficulty existing, then, is to establish a 
direct proportion between “concentralization” and 
the force of concentralization; and this is done, of 
course, if we establish such proportion between “ra- 
diation” and the force of radiation. 

A very slight inspection of the Heavens assures us 
that the stars have a certain general uniformity, equa- 
bility, or equidistance, of distribution through that 
region of space in which, collectively, and in a roughly 
globular form, they are situated; this species of 
very general, rather than absolute, equability, being in 
full keeping with my deduction of inequidistance, 
within certain limits, among the originally diffused 
atoms, as a corollary from the design of infinite com- 
plexity of relation out of irrelation. I started, it will 
be remembered, with the idea of a generally uniform 
but particularly wzuniform distribution of the atoms; 
an idea, I repeat, which an inspection of the stars, as 
they exist, confirms. 

But even in the merely general equability of dis- 
tribution, as regards the atoms, there appears a diffi- 
culty which, no doubt, has already suggested itself to 
those among my readers who have borne in mind that 
I suppose this equability of distribution effected 
through radiation from a centre. The very first 
glance at the idea, radiation, forces us to the entertain- 
ment of the hitherto unseparated and seemingly in- 
separable idea of agglomeration about a centre, with 
dispersion as we recede from it — the idea, in a word, 
of zzequability of distribution in respect to the matter 
radiated. 

Now, I have elsewhere! observed that it is by just 


1 “ The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” 
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such difficulties as the one now in question — such 
peculiarities, such roughnesses, such protuberances 
above the plane of the ordinary —that Reason feels 
her way, if at all, in her search for the True. By the 
difficulty — the “ peculiarity ” — now presented, I leap 
at once to fhe secret; a secret which I might never 
have attained dzt for the peculiarity and the inferences 
which, zz ts mere character of peculiarity, it affords 
me. 

The process of thought, at this point, may be thus 
roughly sketched : —I say to myself —“ Unity, as I 
have explained it, is a truth; I feelit. Diffusionisa 
truth; I see it. Radiation, by which alone these two 
truths are reconciled, is a consequent truth; I perceive 
it. Lguabzlity of diffusion, first deduced a prioré and 
then corroborated by the inspection of phenomena, is 
also a truth; I fully admit it. So far all is clear 
around me; there are no clouds behind which “she 
secret —the great secret of the gravitating modus 
operandi — can possibly lie hidden; but this secret 
lies hereabouts, most assuredly; and were there but a 
cloud in view I should be driven to suspicion of that 
cloud.” And now, just as I say this, there actually 
comes a cloud into view. This cloud is the seeming 
impossibility of reconciling my truth, radzation, with 
my truth, eguadbility of diffusion. I say now:—“ Be- 
hind this seeming impossibility is to be found what 
I desire.” I do not say “veal impossibility ;” for 
invincible faith in my truths assures me that it is a 
mere difficulty, after all; but I go on to say, with un- 
flinching confidence, that, whe this difficulty shall be 
solved, we shall find, wrapped up in the process of 
solution, the key to the secret at which we aim. More- 
over, I feel that we shall discover but one possible 

VOL. IX. —4 49 


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solution of the difficulty: this for the reason that, 
were there two, one would be supererogatory — would 
be fruitless — would be empty — would contain no 
key —since no duplicate key can be needed to any 
secret of Nature. 

And now, let us see: — Our usual notions of radia- 
tion —in fact, a// our distinct notions of it —are 
caught merely from the process as we see it exempli- 
fied in Zzght. Here there is a continuous outpouring 
of ray-streams, and with a force which we have at 
least no right to suppose varies at all. Now, in any 
such radiation as ¢izs, continuous and of unvarying 
force, the regions nearer the centre must zzevztably be 
always more crowded with the radiated matter than 
the regions more remote. But I have assumed no 
such radiation as this. I assumed no continuous 
radiation; and for the simple reason that such an 
assumption would have involved, first, the necessity 
of entertaining a conception which I have shown no 
man camz entertain, and which (as I will more fully 
explain hereafter) all observation of the firmament 
refutes —the conception of the absolute infinity of 
the Universe of Stars; and would have involved, 
secondly, the impossibility of understanding a re- 
action — that is, gravitation —as existing now, since, 
while an act is continued, no reaction, of course, can 
take place. My assumption, then—or rather my 
inevitable deduction from just premises — was that of 
a determinate radiation — one finally dzscontinued. 

Let me now describe the sole possible mode in 
which it is conceivable that matter could have been 
diffused through space, so as to fulfil the condi- 
tions at once of radiation and of generally equable 
distribution. 


50 


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For convenience of illustration, let us imagine, in 
the first place, a hollow sphere of glass, or of anything 
else, occupying the space throughout which the uni- 
versal matter is to be thus equably diffused, by means 
of radiation, from the absolute, irrelative, uncondi- 
tional Particle, placed in the centre of the sphere. 

Now, a certain exertion of the diffusive power (pre- 
sumed to be the Divine Volition) —in other words, a 
certain force, whose measure is the quantity of matter, 
that is to say, the number of atoms, emitted — emits, 
by radiation, this certain number of atoms; forcing 
them in all directions outwardly from the centre — 
their proximity to each other diminishing as they pro- 
ceed — until, finally, they are distributed, loosely, over 
the interior surface of the sphere. 

When these atoms have attained this position, or 
while proceeding to attain it, a second and inferior 
exercise of the same force — or a second and inferior 
force of the same character — emits, in the same man- 
ner — that is to say, by radiation as before — a second 
stratum of atoms which proceeds to deposit itself 
upon the first; the number of atoms, in this case as 
in the former, being of course the measure of the force 
which emitted them; in other words, the force being 
precisely adapted to the purpose it effects — the force, 
and the number of atoms sent out by the force, being 
directly proportional. 

When this second stratum has reached its destined 
position — or while approaching it —a third still infe- 
rior exertion of the force, or a third inferior force of a 
similar character — the number of atoms emitted being 
in aéZ cases the measure of the force—proceeds to 
deposit a third stratum upon the second; and so on, 
until these concentric strata, growing gradually less 


51 


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and less, come down at length to the central point; 
and the diffusive matter, simultaneously with the dif- 
fusive force, is exhausted. 

We have now the sphere filled, through means of 
radiation, with atoms equably diffused. The two 
necessary conditions — those of radiation and of equa- 
ble diffusion — are satisfied; and by the so/e process in 
which the possibility of their simultaneous satisfaction 
is conceivable. For this reason, I confidently expect 
to find, lurking in the present condition of the atoms 
as distributed throughout the sphere, the secret of 
which I am in search —the all-important principle of 
the modus operandi of the Newtonian law. Let us 
examine, then, the actual condition of the atoms. 

They lie in a series of concentric strata. They are 
equably diffused throughout the sphere. 

The atoms being eguadly distributed, the greater 
the superficial extent of any of these concentric strata, 
or spheres, the more atoms will lie uponit. In other 
words, the number of atoms lying upon the surface of 
any one of the concentric spheres is directly propor- 
tional with the extent of that surface. 

But, in any series of concentric spheres, the surfaces 
are directly proportional with the squares of the dis- 
tances from the centre. 

Therefore the number of atoms in any stratum is 
directly proportional with the square of that stratum’s 
distance from the centre. 

But the number of atoms in any stratum is the 
measure of the force which emitted that stratum — 


1 Here describe the whole process as one instantaneous flash. 
Poe’s Manuscript Note. 

2 Succinctly — The surfaces of spheres are as the squares of their 
radii. I 


52 


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that is to say, is directly proportional with the 
force. 

Therefore the force which radiated any stratum is 
directly proportional with the square of that stratum’s 
distance from the centre; — or, generally: 

The force of the radiation has been directly propor- 
tional with the squares of the distances:—or par- 
ticularly: the force by which any individual atom was 
sent to tts position in the sphere was directly propor- 
tional with the square of that atom’s distance, while 
in that position, from the centre of the sphere. 

Now, Reaction, as far as we know anything of it, is 
Action conversed. The general principle of Gravity 
being, in the first place, understood as the reaction of 
an act—as the expression of a desire on the part of 
Matter, while existing in a state of diffusion, to return 
into the Unity whence it was diffused; and, in the 
second place, the mind being called on to determine 
the character of the desire —the manner in which it 
would, naturally, be manifested; in other words, being 
called on to conceive a probable law, or modus ofer- 
andi, for the return—could not well help arriving at 
the conclusion that this law of return would be pre- 
cisely the converse of the law of departure. That 
such would be the case, any one, at least, would be 
abundantly justified in taking for granted, until such 
time as some person should suggest something like a 
plausible reason why it should zor be the case — until 
such period as a law of return shall be imagined which 
the intellect can consider as preferable. 

Matter, then, radiated into space with a force vary- 
ing as the squares of the distances, might @ Drzorz be 
supposed to return towards its centre of radiation with 
a force varying zzversely as the squares of the dis- 


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tances; and IJ have already shown ! that any principle 
which will explain why the atoms should tend, accord- 
ing to any law, to the general centre, must be admitted 
as satisfactorily explaining, at the same time, why, 
according to the same law, they should tend each to 
each. For, in fact, the tendency to the general centre 
is not to a centre as such, but because of its being a 
point in tending towards which each atom tends most 
directly to its real and essential centre, Unuzty —the 
absolute and final Union of all. 

The consideration here involved presents to my own 
mind no embarrassment whatever; but this fact does 
not blind me to the possibility of its being obscure to 
those who may have been less in the habit of dealing 
with abstractions; and, on the whole, it may be as 
well to look at the matter from one or two other points 
of view. 

The absolute, irrelative particle, primarily created 
by the Volition of God, must have been in a condition 
of positive xorma/ity, or rightfulness —for wrongful- 
ness implies ve/atzon. Right is positive; wrong is 
negative —is merely the negation of right; as cold is 
the negation of heat — darkness, of light. That a thing 
may be wrong, it is necessary that there be some 
other thing in relation to which it zs wrong —some 
condition which it fails to satisfy; some law which it 
violates; some being whom it aggrieves. If there be 
no such being, law, or condition, in respect to which 
the thing is wrong —and, still more especially, if no 
beings, laws, or conditions exist at all—then the 
thing canzof¢ be wrong, and consequently must be rvzg/¢.. 

Any deviation from normality involves a tendency 
to return to it. A difference from the normal —from 

1 Page 41. 
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the right — from the just—can be understood as 
effected only by the overcoming a difficulty; and, if 
the force which overcomes the difficulty be not infi- 
nitely continued, the ineradicable tendency to return 
will at length be permitted to act for its own satisfac- 
tion. On withdrawal of the force, the tendency acts. 
This is the principle of reaction as the inevitable con- 
sequence of finite action. Employing a phraseology 
of which the seeming affectation will be pardoned for 
its expressiveness, we may say that Reaction is the 
return from the condition of as zt zs and ought not to 
be into the condition of as zt was, originally, and 
therefore ought to be; —and let me add here that the 
absolute force of Reaction would no doubt be always 
found in direct proportion with the reality — the truth 
— the absoluteness — of the originality, if ever it were 
possible to measure this latter; and, consequently, the 
greatest of all conceivable reactions must be that man- 
ifested in the tendency which we now discuss — the 
tendency to return into the absolutely original, into 
the supremely primitive. Gravity, then, must be the 
strongest of forces —an idea reached a friorz, and 
abundantly confirmed by induction. What use I make 
of the idea will be seen in the sequel. 

The atoms, now, having been diffused from their 
normal condition of Unity, seek to return to — what ? 
Not to any particular oznz, certainly ; for it is clear 
that if, on the diffusion, the whole Universe of matter 
had been projected, collectively, to a distance from 
the point of radiation, the atomic tendency to the 
general centre of the sphere would not have been dis- 
turbed in the least; the atoms would not have sought 
the point 2 absolute space from which they were 
originally impelled. It is merely the condition, and 


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not the point or locality at which this condition took 
its rise, that these atoms seek to re-establish ; it is 
merely that condition which ts thetr normality that 
they desire. “But they seek a centre,” it will be 
said, “and a centre is a point.” True; but they 
seek this point not in its character of point — (for, 
were the whole sphere moved from its position, they 
would seek, equally, the centre; and the centre ¢hex 
would be a zew point) — but because it so happens, 
on account of the form in which they collectively exist 
(that of the sphere), that only ¢krough the point in 
question — the sphere’s centre — they can attain their 
true object, Unity. In the direction of the centre 
each atom perceives more atoms than in any other 
direction. Each atom is impelled towards the centre 
because along the straight line joining it and the 
centre, and passing on to the surface beyond, there lie 
a greater number of atoms than along any other 
straight line joining it, the atom, with any point of the 
sphere —a greater number of objects that seek it, 
the individual atom — a greater number of tendencies 
to Unity — a greater number of satisfactions for its 
own tendency to Unity—ina word, because in the 
direction of the centre lies the utmost possibility of 
satisfaction, generally, for its own individual appetite. 
To be brief, the condition, Unity, is all that is really 
sought; and if the atoms seem to seek the centre of 
the sphere, it is only impliedly — through implication 
— because such centre happens to imply, to include, 
or to involve, the only essential centre, Unity. But on 
account of this implication or involution, there is no 
possibility of practically separating the tendency to 
Unity in the abstract from the tendency to the con- 
crete centre. Thus the tendency of the atoms to the 
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general centre zs, to all practical intents and for all 
logical purposes, the tendency each to each; and the 
tendency each to each zs the tendency to the centre; 
and the one tendency may be assumed as the other; 
whatever will apply to the one must be thoroughly 
applicable to the other; and, in conclusion, whatever 
principle will satisfactorily explain the one, cannot be 
questioned as an explanation of the other. 

In looking carefully around me for a rational 
objection to what I have advanced, I am able to 
discover nothing;— but of that class of objections 
usually urged by the doubters for Doubt’s sake, I 
very readily perceive ¢ivee; and proceed to dispose 
of them in order. 

It may be said, first: “That the proof that the 
force of radiation (in the case described) is directly 
proportional with the squares of the distances, depends 
on an unwarranted assumption — that of the number 
of atoms in each stratum being the measure of the 
force with which they are emitted.” 

I reply, not only that I am warranted in such 
assumption, but that I should be utterly w#warranted 
in any other. What I assume is, simply, that an 
effect is the measure of its cause; that every exercise 
of the Divine Will will be proportional with that 
which demands the exertion; that the means of 
Omnipotence, or of Omniscience, will be exactly 
adapted to its purposes. Neither can a deficiency 
nor an excess of cause bring to pass any effect. Had 
the force which radiated any stratum to its position 
been either more or less than was needed for the pur- 
pose — that is to say, not directly proportional with 
the purpose —then to its position that stratum 
could not have been radiated. Had the force which, 


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with a view to general equability of distribution, 
emitted the proper number of atoms for each stratum, 
been not directly proportional with the number, then 
the number would zof have been the number de- 
manded. for the equable distribution. 

The second supposable objection is somewhat bet- 
ter entitled to an answer. 

It is an admitted principle in Dynamics that every 
body, on receiving an impulse, or disposition to move, 
will move onward in a straight line, in the direction 
imparted by the impelling force, until deflected, or 
stopped, by some other force. How then, it may be 
asked, is my first or external stratum of atoms to be 
understood as discontinuing their movement at the 
surface of the imaginary glass sphere, when no second 
force, of more than an imaginary character, appears, 
to account for the discontinuance? 

I reply that the objection, in this case, actually does 
arise out of ‘an unwarranted assumption ’”—on the 
part of the objector — the assumption of a principle, 
in Dynamics, at an epoch when zo “principles,” in 
anything, exist. I use the word “ principle,” of course, 
in the objector’s understanding of the word. 

“In the beginning” we can admit — indeed, we can 
comprehend — but one /7zrst Cause, the truly ultimate 
Principle, the Volition of God. The primary act— 
that of Radiation from Unity — must have been inde- 
pendent of all that which the world now calls “ prin- 
ciple ;”’ because all that we so designate is but a con- 
sequence of the reaction of that primary act. I say 
“ primary” act; for the creation of the absolute mate- 
rial Particle is more properly to be regarded as a 
conception than as an “act” in the ordinary meaning 
of the term. Thus, we must regard the primary act 

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as an act for the establishment of what we now call 
“principles.” But this primary act itself is to be 
considered as continuous Volition. The Thought of 
God is to be understood as originating the Diffusion 
—as proceeding with it—as regulating it — and, 
finally, as being withdrawn from it on its completion. 
Then commences Reaction, and through Reaction, 
“ Principle,” as we employ the word. It will be ad- 
visable, however, to limit the application of this word 
to the two zmmediate results of the discontinuance of 
the Divine Volition — that is, to the two agents, A¢- 
traction and Repulsion. Every other natural agent 
depends, either more or less immediately, on these 
two, and therefore would be more conveniently desig- 
nated as szé-principle. 

It may be objected, thirdly, that, in general, the 
peculiar mode of distribution which I have suggested 
for the atoms is “an hypothesis and nothing more.” 

Now, I am aware that the word “ hypothesis ” is a 
ponderous sledge-hammer, grasped immediately, if 
not lifted, by all very diminutive thinkers, on the first 
appearance of any proposition wearing, in any partic- 
ular, the garb of @ theory. But “hypothesis” can- 
not be wielded herve to any good purpose, even by 
those who succeed in lifting it — little men or great. 

I maintain, first, that o#/y in the mode described is 
it conceivable that Matter could have been diffused so 
as to fulfil at once the conditions of radiation and of 
generally equable distribution. I maintain, secondly, 
that these conditions themselves have been imposed 
upon me, as necessities, in a train of ratiocination 
as rigorously logical as that which establishes any 
demonstration in Euclid; and I maintain, thirdly, 
that even if the charge of “ hypothesis ” were as fully 


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sustained as it is, in fact, unsustained and untenable, 
still the validity and indisputability of my result would 
not, even in the slightest particular, be disturbed. 

To explain: — The Newtonian Gravity — a law of 
Nature —a law whose existence as such no one out of 
Bedlam questions —a law whose admission as such 
enables us to account for nine tenths of the Universal 
phenomena — a law which, merely because it does so 
enable us to account for these phenomena, we are per- 
fectly willing, without reference to any other consid- 
erations, to admit, and cannot help admitting, as a 
law —a law, nevertheless, of which neither the princi- 
ple nor the modus operandi of the principle has ever 
yet been traced by the human analysis —a law, in 
short, which, neither in its detail nor in its generality, 
has been found susceptible of explanation af a//—is 
at length seen to be at every point thoroughly expli- 
cable, provided we only yield our assent to — what? 
To an hypothesis? Why, zf an hypothesis —if the 
merest hypothesis — if an hypothesis for whose as- 
sumption, as in the case of that pure hypothesis the 
Newtonian law itself, no shadow of a friord reason 
could be assigned —if an hypothesis, even so absolute 
as all this implies, would enable us to perceive a prin- 
ciple for the Newtonian law— would enable us to 
understand as satisfied, conditions so miraculously, 
so ineffably complex and seemingly irreconcilable as 
those involved in the relations of which Gravity tells 
us, — what rational being could so expose his fatuity 
as to call even this absolute hypothesis an hypothesis 
any longer; unless, indeed, he were to persist in so 
calling it, with the understanding that he did so sim- 
ply for the sake of consistency zz words ? 

But what is the true state of our present case? 

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What is the fact? Not only that it is xo¢ an hypoth- 
esis which we are required fo adoft, in order to admit 
the principle at issue explained, but that it zs a logi- 
cal conclusion which we are requested ot to adopt if 
we can avoid it — which we are simply invited to deny 
if we cam, a conclusion of so accurate a logicality 
that to dispute it would be the effort—to doubt its 
validity, beyond our power; a conclusion from which 
we see no mode of escape, turn as we will; a result 
which confronts us either at the end of an zzductive 
journey from the phenomena of the very Law dis- 
cussed, or at the close of a deductive career from the 
most rigorously simple of all conceivable assumptions 
— the assumption, in a word, of Simplicity itself. 

And if here, it be urged, that although my starting- 
point is, as I assert, the assumption of absolute Sim- 
plicity, yet Simplicity, considered merely in itself, is 
no axiom ; and that only deductions from axioms are 
indisputable; it is thus that I reply: 

Every other science than Logic is the science of 
certain concrete relations. Arithmetic, for example, 
is the science of the relations of number — Geometry, 
of the relations of form — Mathematics in general, of 
the relations of quantity in general — of whatever can 
be increased or diminished. Logic, however, is the 
science of Relation in the abstract — of absolute Re- 
lation — of Relation considered solely in itself. An 
axiom in any particular science other than Logic is, 
thus, merely a proposition announcing certain con- 
crete relations which seem to be too obvious for dis- 
pute — as when we say, for instance, that the whole is 
greater than its part; and, thus again, the principle 
of the Logical axiom —in other words, of an axiom 
in the abstract — is, simply, obviousness of relation. 


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Now, it is clear, not only that what is obvious to one 
mind may not be obvious to another, but that what is 
obvious to one mind at one epoch, may be anything 
but obvious, at another epoch, to the same mind. It 
is clear, moreover, that what to-day is obvious even to 
the majority of mankind, or to the majority of the best 
intellects of mankind, may to-morrow be, to either 
majority, more or less obvious, or in no respect ob- 
vious at all. It is seen, then, that the axtomatic prin- 
ciple itself is susceptible ofvariation, and of course 
that axioms are susceptible of similar change. Being 
mutable, the “truths ” which grow out of them are 
necessarily mutable too; or, in other words, are never 
to be positively depended on as truths at all — since 
Truth and Immutability are one. 

It will now be readily understood that no axiomatic 
idea —no idea founded in the fluctuating principle, 
obviousness of relation —can possibly be so secure, 
so reliable a basis for any structure erected by the 
Reason, as fhat idea (whatever it is, wherever we can 
find it, or zf it be practicable to find it anywhere) 
which is zvrelative altogether; which not only pre- 
sents to the understanding xo obviousness of relation, 
either greater or less, to be considered, but subjects 
the intellect, not in the slightest degree, to the neces- 
sity of even looking at any relation at all. If such 
an idea be not what we too heedlessly term “an 
axiom,” it is at least preferable, as a logical basis, to 
any axiom ever propounded, or to all imaginable 
axioms combined; and such, precisely, is the idea 
with which my deductive process, so thoroughly 
corroborated by induction, commences. My Particle 
Proper is but absolute Relation. 

To sum up what has been advanced : — As a starting- 

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point I have taken it for granted, simply, that the Begin- 
ning had nothing behind it or before it, that it was a 
Beginning in fact, that it was a Beginning and nothing 
different from a Beginning; in short, that this Begin- 
ning was — that which tt was. If this be a “mere 
assumption,” then a “ mere assumption ” let it be. 

To conclude this branch of the subject:—I am 
fully warranted in announcing that the Law which we 
call Gravity exists on account of Matter’s having been 
radiated, at tts origin, atomically, into a limited 
sphere of Space, from one individual, unconditional, 
trrelative, and absolute Particle Proper, by the sole 
process in which tt was possible to satisfy, at the same 
time, the two conditions — Radiation, and equable dis- 
tribution throughout the sphere; that ts to say, by a 
force varying in direct proportion with the squares 
of the distances between the Radiated atoms, resfec- 
tevely, and the Particular centre of Radiation. 

I have already given my reasons for presuming 
Matter to have been diffused by a determinate rather 
than by a continuous or infinitely continued force. 
Supposing a continuous force, we should be unable, 
in the first place, to comprehend a reaction at all; 
and we should be required, in the second place, to 
entertain the impossible conception of an infinite ex- 
tension of Matter. Not to dwell upon the impossibil- 
ity of the conception, the infinite extension of Matter 
is an idea which, if not positively disproved, is at least 
not in any respect warranted by telescopic observation 
of the stars —a point to be explained more fully here- 
after; and this empirical reason for believing in the 
original finity of Matter is unempirically confirmed. 

1 A sphere is necessarily limited. I prefer tautology to a chance 
of misconception. 


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For example :— Admitting, for the moment, the pos- 
sibility of understanding Space as j//led with the 
radiated atoms —that is to say, admitting, as well as 
we can, for argument’s sake, that the succession of 
the radiated atoms had absolutely xo exd—then it is 
clear, that, even when the Volition of God had been 
withdrawn from them, and thus the tendency to return 
into Unity permitted (abstractly) to be satisfied, this 
permission would have been nugatory and invalid, — 
practically valueless and of no effect whatever. No 
Reaction could have taken place; no movement to- 
ward Unity could have been made; no Law of Gray- 
ity could have obtained. 

To explain: — Grant the abstract tendency of any 
one atom to any one other as the inevitable result 
of diffusion from the normal Unity; or, what is the 
same thing, admit any given atom as proposing to 
move in any given direction: it is clear that, since 
there is an zzfinity of atoms on all sides of the atom 
proposing to move, it never can actually move toward 
the satisfaction of its tendency in the direction 
given, on account of a precisely equal and counter- 
balancing tendency in the direction diametrically 
opposite. In other words, exactly as many ten- 
dencies to Unity are behind the hesitating atom 
as before it; for it is mere folly to say that one in- 
finite line is longer or shorter than another infinite 
line, or that one infinite number is greater or less 
than another number that is infinite. Thus the atom 
in question must remain stationary forever. Under 
the impossible circumstances which we have been 
merely endeavoring to conceive for argument’s sake, 
there could have been no aggregation of Matter — 
no stars—no worlds —nothing but a perpetually 


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atomic and inconsequential Universe. In fact, view 
it as we will, the whole idea of unlimited Matter is 
not only untenable, but impossible and preposterous. 

With the understanding of a sphere of atoms, how- 
ever, we perceive, at once, a satzsfiable tendency 
to union. The general result of the tendency each 
to each being a tendency of all to the centre, the 
general process of condensation, or approximation, 
commences immediately, by a common and simul- 
taneous movement, on withdrawal of the Divine 
Volition; the zzdazvidual approximations, or coales- 
cences of atom with atom, being subject to almost 
infinite variations of time, degree, and condition, on 
account of the excessive multiplicity of relation, aris- 
ing from the differences of form assumed as char- 
acterizing the atoms at the moment of their quitting 
the Particle Proper; as well as from the subsequent 
particular inequidistance, each from each. 

What I wish to impress upon the reader is the 
certainty of there arising, at once (on withdrawal 
of the diffusive force, or Divine Volition), out of 
the condition of the atoms as described, at innu- 
merable points throughout the Universal sphere, innu- 
merable agglomerations, characterized by innumerable 
specific differences of form, size, essential nature, and 
distance each from each. The development of Repul- 
sion (Electricity) must have commenced, of course, 
with the very earliest particular efforts at Unity, and 
must have proceeded constantly in the ratio of Coa- 
lescence — that is to say, 2 that of Condensation, or, 
again, of Heterogeneity. 

Thus the two Principles Proper, Attraction and 
Repulsion —the Material and the Spiritual —ac- 
company each other, in the strictest fellowship, for- 

VOL, IX.— 5 65 


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ever. Thus Zhe Body and The Soul walk hand in 
hand. | 

If now, in fancy, we select any one of the agglom- 
erations considered as in their primary stages through- 
out the Universal sphere, and suppose this incipient 
agglomeration to be taking place at that point where 
the centre of our Sun exists—or rather where it 
did exist originally; for the Sun is perpetually shift- 
ing his position—we shall find ourselves met, and 
borne onward for a time at least, by the most mag- 
nificent of theories, by the Nebular Cosmogony of 
Laplace; although “ Cosmogony” is far too compre- 
hensive a term for what he really discusses — which 
is the constitution of our solar system alone —of one 
among the myriad of similar systems which make 
up the Universe of Stars. 

Confining himself to an obviously limited region — 
that of our solar system with its comparatively immedi- 
ate vicinity; and merely assuming —that is to say, 
assuming without any basis whatever — much of what 
I have been just endeavoring to place upon a more 
stable basis than assumption ; assuming, for example, 
matter as diffused (without pretending to account for 
the diffusion) throughout, and somewhat beyond, the 
space occupied by our system — diffused in a state 
of heterogeneous nebulosity, and obedient to that omni- 
prevalent law of Gravity at whose principle he ventured 
to make no guess; assuming all this (which is quite 
true, although he had no logical right to its assump- 
tion), Laplace has shown, dynamically and mathe- 
matically, that the results in such case necessarily 
ensuing are those, and those alone, which we find 
manifested in the actually existing condition of the 
system itself. 


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To explain: — Let us conceive ¢ha¢ particular ag- 
glomeration of which we have just spoken —the one 
at the point designated by our Sun’s centre — to have 
so far proceeded that a vast quantity of nebulous 
matter has here assumed a roughly globular form; 
its centre being, of course, coincident with what is 
now, or rather was originally, the centre of our Sun; 
and its surface extending out beyond the orbit of 
Neptune, the most remote of our planets; in other 
words, let us suppose the diameter of this rough 
sphere to be some six thousand millions of miles. For 
ages, this mass of matter has been undergoing conden- 
sation, until at length it has become reduced into the 
bulk we imagine; having proceeded gradually, of 
course, from its atomic and imperceptible state, into 
what we understand of appreciable nebulosity. 

Now, the condition of this mass implies a rotation 
about an imaginary axis; a rotation which, commen- 
cing with the absolute incipiency of the aggregation, 
has been ever since acquiring velocity. The very 
first two atoms which met, approaching each other 
from points not diametrically opposite, would, in 
rushing partially past each other, form a nucleus for 
the rotary movement described. How this would 
increase in velocity, is readily seen. The two atoms 
are joined by others ;— an aggregationis formed. The 
mass continues to rotate while condensing. But any 
atom at the surface has, of course, a more rapid 
motion than one nearer the centre. The outer atom, 
however, with its superior velocity, approaches the 
centre; carrying this superior velocity with it as it 
goes. Thus every atom, proceeding inwardly, and 
finally attaching itself to the condensed centre, adds 
something to the original velocity of that centre— 

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that is to say, increases the rotary movement of the 
mass. 

Let us now suppose this mass so far condensed 
that it occupies preczsely the space circumscribed by 
the orbit of Neptune, and that the velocity with which 
the surface of the mass moves, in the general rota- 
tion, is precisely that velocity with which Neptune 
now revolves about the Sun. At this epoch, then, 
we are to understand that the constantly increasing 
centrifugal force, having gotten the better of the non- 
increasing centripetal, loosened and separated the 
exterior and least condensed stratum, or a few of 
the exterior and least condensed strata, at the equator 
of the sphere, where the tangential velocity predomi- 
nated; so that these strata formed about the main 
body an independent ring encircling the equatorial 
regions ; just as the exterior portion thrown off, by 
excessive velocity of rotation, from a grindstone, 
would form a ring about the grindstone, but for the 
solidity of the superficial material ; — were this caout- 
chouc, or anything similar in consistency, precisely 
the phenomenon I describe would be presented. 

The ring thus whirled from the nebulous mass ve- 
volved, of course, as a separate ring, with just that 
velocity with which, while the surface of the mass, 
it rotated. In the mean time, condensation still pro- 
ceeding, the interval between the discharged ring 
and the main body continued to increase, until the 
former was left at a vast distance from the latter. 

Now, admitting the ring to have possessed, by 
some seemingly accidental arrangement of its hetero- 
geneous materials, a constitution nearly uniform, then 
this ring, as such, would never have ceased revolving 
about its primary; but, as might have been antici 

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pated, there appears to have been enough irregularity 
in the disposition of the materials to make them 
cluster about centres of superior solidity ; and thus 
the annular form was destroyed.t No doubt, the 
band was soon broken up into several portions, and 
one of these portions, predominating in mass, ab- 
sorbed the others into itself; the whole settling, 
spherically, into a planet. That this latter, as a 
planet, continued the revolutionary movement which 
characterized it while a ring, is sufficiently clear; and 
that it took upon itself, also, an additional movement 
in its new condition of sphere, is readily explained. 
The ring being understood as yet unbroken, we see 
that its exterior, while the whole revolves about the 
parent body, moves more rapidly than its interior. 
When the rupture occurred, then, some portion in 
each fragment must have been moving with greater 
velocity than the others. The superior movement 
prevailing must have whirled each fragment round — 
that is to say, have caused it to rotate; and the di- 
rection of the rotation must, of course, have been the 
direction of the revolution whence it arose. A//Z the 
fragments, having become subject to the rotation 
described, must, in coalescing, have imparted it to 
the one planet constituted by their coalescence. This 
planet was Neptune. Its material continuing to 
undergo condensation, and the centrifugal force, gen- 
erated in its rotation, getting at length the better of 


1 Laplace assumed his nebulosity heterogeneous, merely that he 
might be thus enabled to account for the breaking up of the rings ; 
for had the nebulosity been homogeneous, they would not have 
broken. I reach the same result — heterogeneity of the secondary 
masses immediately resulting from the atoms — purely from an 
a priori consideration of their general design — (elation. 


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the centripetal, as before in the case of the parent 
orb, a ring was whirled also from the equatorial sur- 
face of this planet; this ring, having been uniform 
in its constitution, was broken up, and its several 
fragments, being absorbed by the most massive, were 
collectively spherified into a moon. Subsequently, 
the operation was repeated, and a second moon 
was the result. We thus account for the planet 
Neptune, with the two satellites which accompany 
him.? 

In throwing off a ring from its equator, the Sun 
re-established that equilibrium between its centripetal 
and centrifugal forces which had been disturbed in the 
process of condensation; but, as this condensation still 
proceeded, the equilibrium was again immediately dis- 
turbed, through the increase of rotation. By the time 
the mass had so far shrunk that it occupied a spherical 
space just that circumscribed by the orbit of Uranus, 
we are to understand that the centrifugal force had so 
far obtained the ascendency that new relief was 
needed; a second equatorial band was, consequently, 
thrown off, which, proving un-uniform, was broken up, 
as before in the case of Neptune, the fragments 
settling into the planet Uranus — the velocity of whose 
actual revolution about the Sun indicates, of course, 
the rotary speed of that Sun’s equatorial surface at 
the moment of the separation. Uranus, adopting a 
rotation from the collective rotations of the fragments 
composing it, as previously explained, now threw off 
ring after ring; each of which, becoming broken up, 
settled into a moon;—three moons, at different 
epochs, having been formed, in this manner, by the 

1 When this book went to press, the vizg of Neptune had not 
been positively determined. — Poe’s Manuscript Note. 


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rupture and general spherification of as many distinct 
un-uniform rings. 

By the time the Sun had shrunk until it occupied a 
space just that circumscribed by the orbit of Saturn, 
the balance, we are to suppose, between its centripetal 
and centrifugal forces had again become so far dis- 
turbed, through increase of rotary velocity, the result 
of condensation, that a third effort at equilibrium 
became necessary; and an annular band was there- 
fore whirled off, as twice before; which, on rupture 
through un-uniformity, became consolidated into the 
planet Saturn. This latter threw off, in the first place, 
seven un-uniform bands, which, on rupture, were sphe- 
rified respectively into as many moons; but, subse- 
quently, it appears to have discharged, at three distinct 
but not very distant epochs, three rings whose equa- 
bility of constitution was, by apparent accident, so 
considerable as to present no occasion for their rup- 
ture; thus they continue to revolve as rings. I use 
the phrase “apparent accident;” for of accident in 
the ordinary sense there was, of course, nothing; — 
the term is properly applied only to the result of 
indistinguishable or not immediately traceable aw. 

_ Shrinking still farther, until it occupied just the 
space circumscribed by the orbit of Jupiter, the Sun 
now found need of farther effort to restore the counter- 
balance of its two forces, continually disarranged 
in the still continued increase of rotation. Jupiter, 
accordingly, was now thrown off, passing from the 
annular to the planetary condition; and, on attaining 
this latter, threw off in its turn, at four different epochs, 
four rings, which finally resolved themselves into so 
many moons. 

Still shrinking, until its sphere occupied just the 


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space defined by the orbit of the Asteroids, the Sun 
now discarded a ring which appears to have had nine 
centres of superior solidity, and, on breaking up, to 
have separated into nine fragments, no one of which 
so far predominated in mass as to absorb the others.! 
All therefore, as distinct although comparatively small 
planets, proceeded to revolve in orbits whose dis- 
tances, each from each, may be considered as in some 
degree the measure of the force which drove them 
asunder; all the orbits, nevertheless, being so closely 
coincident as to admit of our calling them ove, in view 
of the other planetary orbits. 

Continuing to shrink, the Sun, on becoming so small 
as just to fill the orbit of Mars, now discharged this 
planet — of course by the process repeatedly described. 
Since he had no moon, however, Mars could have 
thrown off no ring. In fact, an epoch had now ar- 
rived in the career of the parent body, the centre of 
the system. The decrease of its nebulosity — which is 
the zzcrease of its density, and which again is the 
decrease of its condensation, out of which latter arose 
the constant disturbance of equilibrium — must, by this 
period, have attained a point at which the efforts for 
restoration would have been more and more ineffectual 
just in proportion as they were less frequently needed. 
Thus the processes of which we have been speaking 
would everywhere show signs of exhaustion—=in the 
planets, first, and secondly, in the original mass. We 
must not fall into the error of supposing the decrease 
of interval observed among the planets as we approach 
the Sun to be in any respect indicative of an increase 
of frequency in the periods at which they were dis- 

1 Another asteroid [the text formerly read eight] discovered 
since the work went to press. — Poe’s Manuscript Note. 


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carded. Exactly the converse is to be understood. 
The longest interval of time must have occurred be- 
tween the discharges of the two interior; the shortest, 
between those of the two exterior, planets. The 
decrease of the interval of space is, nevertheless, the 
measure of the density, and thus inversely of the 
condensation, of the Sun, throughout the processes 
detailed. 

Having shrunk, however, so far as to fill only the 
orbit of our Earth, the parent sphere whirled from it- 
self still one other body —the Earth —in a condition 
so nebulous as to admit of this body’s discarding, in 
its turn, yet another, which is our Moon; but here 
terminated the lunar formations. 

Finally, subsiding to the orbits first of Venus and 
then of Mercury, the Sun discarded these two interior 
planets; neither of which has given birth to any moon. 

Thus from his original bulk—or, to speak more 
accurately, from the condition in which we first con- 
sidered him—from a partially spherified nebular 
mass, certainly much more than five thousand six 
hundred millions of miles in diameter — the great cen- 
tral orb and origin of our solar-planetary-lunar sys- 
tem has gradually descended, by condensation, in 
obedience to the law of Gravity, to a globe only eight 
hundred and eighty-two thousand miles in diameter ; 
but it by no means follows, either that its conden- 
sation is yet complete, or that it may not still possess 
the capacity of whirling from itself another planet. 

I have here given—in outline, of course, but still 
with all the detail necessary or distinctness —a view 
of the Nebular Theory as its author himself con- 
ceived it. From whatever point we regard it, we shall 
find it deautifully true. It is by far too beautiful, in- 


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deed, zo¢ to possess Truth as its essentiality — and 
here I am very profoundly serious in what I say. In 
the revolution of the satellites of Uranus, there does 
appear something seemingly inconsistent with the 
assumptions of Laplace; but that oze inconsistency 
can invalidate a theory constructed from a million of 
intricate consistencies, is a fancy fit only for the 
fantastic. In prophesying, confidently, that the ap- 
parent anomaly to which I refer, will, sooner or later, 
be found one of the strongest possible corroborations 
of the general hypothesis, I pretend to no especial 
spirit of divination. It is a matter which the only 
difficulty seems zo¢ to foresee.} 

The bodies whirled off in the processes described, 
would exchange, it has been seen, the superficial vo¢a- 
tion of the orbs whence they originated, for a revolution 
of equal velocity about these orbs as distant centres; 
and the revolution thus engendered must proceed, so 
long as the centripetal force, or that with which the 
discarded body gravitates toward its parent, is neither 
greater nor less than that by which it was discarded ; 
that is, than the centrifugal, or, far more properly, than 
the tangential, velocity. From the unity, however, of 
the origin of these two forces, we might have expected 
to find them as they are found— the one accurately 
counterbalancing the other. It has been shown, indeed, 
that the act of whirling-off is, in every case, merely an 
act for the preservation of the counterbalance. 

After referring, however, the centripetal force to 
the omniprevalent law of Gravity, it has been the 
fashion with astronomical treatises to seek beyond the 


1 I am prepared to show that the anomalous revolution of the 
satellites of Uranus is a simply perspective anomaly arising from 
the douleversement of the axis of the planet. 


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limits of mere Nature — that is to say, of Secondary 
Cause —a solution of the phenomenon of tangential 
velocity. This latter they attribute directly to a 
First Cause —to God. The force which carries a 
stellar body around its primary they assert to have 
originated in an impulse given immediately by the 
finger —this is the childish phraseology employed — by 
the finger of Deity itself. In this view, the planets, fully 
formed, are conceived to have been hurled from the 
Divine hand to a position in the vicinity of the suns, 
with an impetus mathematically adapted to the 
masses, or attractive capacities, of the suns themselves. 
An idea so grossly unphilosophical, although so 
supinely adopted, could have arisen only from the 
difficulty of otherwise accounting for the absolutely 
accurate adaptation, each to each, of two forces so 
seemingly independent, one of the other, as are the 
gravitating and tangential. But it should be remem- 
bered that, for a long time, the coincidence between 
the moon’s rotation and her sidereal revolution —two 
matters seemingly far more independent than those 
now considered —was looked upon as positively 
miraculous ; and there was a strong disposition, even 
among astronomers, to attribute the marvel to the 
direct and continual agency of God; who, in this 
case, it was said, had found it necessary to interpose, 
specially, among His general laws, a set of subsidiary 
regulations, for the purpose of forever concealing from 
mortal eyes the glories, or perhaps the horrors, of the 
other side of the Moon — ofthat mysterious hemi- 
sphere which has always avoided, and must perpetually 
avoid, the telescopic scrutiny of mankind. The ad- 
vance of Science, however, soon demonstrated — what 
to the philosophical instinct needed 20 demonstration 


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—that the one movement is but a portion — some- 
thing more, even, than a consequence — of the 
other. 

For my part, I have no patience with fantasies at 
once so timorous, so idle, and so awkward. They 
belong to the veriest cowardice of thought. That 
Nature and the God of Nature are distinct, no think- 
ing being can long doubt. By the former we imply 
merely the laws of the latter. But with the very idea 
of God, omnipotent, omniscient, we entertain, also, the 
idea of the infallibility of His laws. With Him there 
being neither Past nor Future — with Him all being 
Vow — do we not insult Him in supposing His laws 
so contrived as not to provide for every possible con- 
tingency? or, rather, what idea caz we have of any 
possible contingency, except that it is at once a result 
and a manifestation of His laws? He who, divesting 
himself of prejudice, shall have the rare courage to 
think absolutely for himself, cannot fail to arrive, in 
the end, at the condensation of /aws into Law — can- 
not fail of reaching the conclusion that each law of 
Nature ts dependent at all points upon all other laws, 
and that all are but consequences of one primary 
exercise of the Divine Volition. Such is the prin- 
ciple of the Cosmogony which, with all necessary 
deference, I here venture to suggest and to maintain. 

In this view, it will be seen that, dismissing as 
frivolous, and even impious, the fancy of the tangen- 
tial force having been imparted to the planets imme- 
diately by “the finger of God,” I consider this force 
as originating in the rotation of the stars; this rota- 
tion as brought about by the in-rushing of the primary 
atoms, towards their respective centres of aggrega- 
tion; this in-rushing as the consequence of the law 

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of Gravity; this law as but the mode in which is 
necessarily manifested the tendency of the atoms to 
return into imparticularity; this tendency as but the 
inevitable reaction of the first and most sublime of 
acts — that act by which a God, self-existing and 
alone existing, became all things at once, through 
dint of His volition, while all things were thus con- 
stituted a portion of God. 

The radical assumptions of this discourse suggest 
to me, and in fact imply, certain important modifica- 
tzons of the Nebular Theory as given by Laplace. 
The efforts of the repulsive power I have considered 
as made for the purpose of preventing contact among 
the atoms, and thus as made in the ratio of the ap- 
proach to contact — that is to say, in the ratio of con- 
densation.! In other words, Evectricity, with its invo- 
lute phenomena, heat, light, and magnetism is to 
be understood as proceeding as condensation proceeds, 
and, of course, inversely, as destiny proceeds, or the 
cessation to condense. Thus the Sun, in the process 
of its consolidation, must soon, in developing repul- 
sion, have become excessively heated — incandescent : 
and we can perceive how the operation of discarding 
its rings must have been materially assisted by the 
slight incrustation of its surface consequent on cool- 
ing. Any common experiment shows us how readily 
a crust, of the character suggested, is separated, 
through heterogeneity, from the interior mass. But, 
on every successive rejection of the crust, the new 
surface would appear incandescent as before; and 
the period, at which it would again become so far 
incrusted as to be readily loosened and discharged, 
may well be imagined as exactly coincident with that 

1 See page 65. 
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at which a new effort would be needed, by the whole 
mass, to restore the equilibrium of its two forces, dis- 
arranged through condensation. In other words, —by 
the time the electric influence (Repulsion) has prepared 
the surface for rejection, we are to understand that 
the gravitating influence (Attraction) is precisely ready 
to reject it. Here, then, as everywhere, Zhe Body and 
The Soul walk hand in hand. 

These ideas are empirically confirmed at all points. 
Since condensation can never, in any body, be con- 
sidered as absolutely at an end, we are warranted in 
anticipating that, whenever we have an opportunity 
of testing the matter, we shall find indications of 
resident luminosity in a/Z the stellar bodies — moons 
and planets as well as suns. That our Moon is self- 
luminous we see at her every total eclipse, when, if 
not so, she would disappear. On the dark part of 
the satellite, too, during her phases, we often observe 
flashes like our own Auroras; and that these latter, 
with our various other so-called electrical pheno- 
mena, without reference to any more steady radiance, 
must give our Earth a certain appearance of luminos- 
ity to an inhabitant of the Moon, is quite evident. In 
fact, we should regard all the phenomena referred 
to as mere manifestations, in different moods and 
degrees, of the Earth’s feebly-continued condensation. 

If my views are tenable, we should be prepared to 
find the newer planets — that is to say, those nearer 
the Sun — more luminous than those older and more 
remote; and the extreme brilliancy of Venus (on 
whose dark portions, during her phases, the Auroras 
are frequently visible) does not seem to be altogether 
accounted for by her mere proximity to the central 
orb. She is no doubt vividly self-luminous, although 

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less so than Mercury: while the luminosity of Nep- 
tune may be comparatively nothing. 

Admitting what I have urged, it is clear that, from 
the moment of the Sun’s discarding a ring, there 
must be a continuous diminution both of his heat 
and light, on account of the continuous incrustation 
of his surface; and that a period would arrive —the 
period immediately previous to a new discharge — 
when a very material decrease of both light and heat 
must become apparent. Now, we know that tokens 
of such changes are distinctly recognizable. On the 
Melville Islands, to adduce merely one out of a hun- 
dred examples, we find traces of wltra-tropical vege- 
tation — of plants that never could have flourished 
without immensely more light and heat than are at 
present afforded by our Sun to any portion of the 
surface of the Earth. Is such vegetation referable 
to an epoch immediately subsequent to the whirling- 
off of Venus? At this epoch must have occurred to 
us our greatest access of solar influence; and, in fact, 
this influence must then have attained its maximum, — 
leaving out of view, of course, the period when the 
Earth itself was discarded, the period of its mere 
organization. 

Again: — we know that there exist 2on-luminous 
suns —that is to say, suns whose existence we deter- 
mine through the movements of others, but whose 
luminosity is not sufficient to impress us. Are these 
suns invisible merely on account of the length of time 
elapsed since their discharge of a planet? And yet 
again: may we not —at least in certain cases — 
account for the sudden appearances of suns, where 
none had been previously suspected, by the hypoth- 
esis that, having rolled with incrusted surfaces 


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throughout the few thousand years of our astronom- 
ical history, each of these suns, in whirling off a new 
secondary, has at length been enabled to display the 
glories of its still incandescent interior? To the well- 
ascertained fact of the proportional increase of heat 
as we descend into the Earth, I need, of course, do 
nothing more than refer; it comes in the strongest 
possible corroboration of all that I have said on the 
topic now at issue. 

In speaking, not long ago, of the repulsive or elec- 
trical influence, I remarked that “the important 
phenomena of vitality, consciousness, and thought, 
whether we observe them generally or in detail, seem 
to proceed at least in the ratio of the heterogeneous.” } 
I mentioned, too, that I would recur to the sugges- 
tion; and this is the proper point at which to do so. 
Looking at the matter, first, in detail, we perceive that 
not merely the manifestation of vitality, but its impor- 
tance, consequences, and elevation of character, keep 
pace very closely with the heterogeneity, or com- 
plexity, of the animal structure. Looking at the 
question, now, in its generality, and referring to the 
first movements of the atoms towards mass-constitu- 
tion, we find that heterogeneousness, brought about 
directly through condensation, is proportional with it 
forever. We thus reach the proposition that the zm- 
portance of the development of the terrestrial vitality 
proceeds equably with the terrestrial condensation. 

Now, this is in accordance with what we know of 
the succession of animals on the Earth. As it has 
proceeded in its condensation, superior and still su- 
perior races have appeared. Is it impossible that the 
successive geological revolutions which have attended, 

1 Page 34. 
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at least, if not immediately caused, these successive 
elevations of vitallic character — is it improbable that 
these revolutions have themselves been produced by 
the successive planetary discharges from the Sun; in 
other words, by the successive variations in the solar 
influence on the Earth? Were this idea tenable, we 
Should not be unwarranted in the fancy that the dis- 
charge of yet a new planet, interior to Mercury, may 
give rise to yet a new modification of the terrestrial 
surface —a modification from which may spring a 
race both materially and spiritually superior to Man, 
These thoughts impress me with all the force of 
truth; but I throw them out, of course, merely in 
their obvious character of suggestion. 

The Nebular Theory of Laplace has lately received 
far more confirmation than it needed, at the hands of 
the philosopher Comte. These two have thus to- 
gether shown — zo?, to be sure, that Matter at any 
period actually existed as described, in a state of 
nebular diffusion — but that, admitting it so to have 
existed throughout the space and much beyond the 
space now occupied by our solar system, azd to have 
commenced a movement towards a centre, it must 
gradually have assumed the various forms and 
motions which are now seen, in that system, to ob- 
tain. A demonstration such as this; a dynamical and 
mathematical demonstration, as far as demonstration 
can be, and one empirically confirmed; a demonstra- 
tion unquestionable and unquestioned, unless, indeed, 
by that unprofitable and disreputable tribe, the profes- 
sional questioners — the mere madmen who deny the 
Newtonian law of Gravity on which the results of the 
French mathematicians are based ; — a demonstration, 
I say, such as this, would to most intellects be con- 

VOL. Ix. — 6 81 


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clusive — and I confess that it is so to mine —of the 
validity of the nebular hypothesis. upon which the 
demonstration depends. 

That the demonstration does not prove the hypo- 
thesis, according to the common understanding of the 
word “ proof,” I admit, of course. To show that cer- 
tain existing results — that certain established facts — 
may be, even mathematically, accounted for by the 
assumption of a certain hypothesis, is by no means to 
establish the hypothesis itself. In other words, — to 
show that, certain data being given, a certain existing 
result might, or even must, have ensued, will fail to 
prove that this result dd ensue, from the data, until 
such time as it shall be also shown that there are, and 
can be, no other data from which the result in question 
might egually have ensued. But, in the case now 
discussed, although all must admit the deficiency of 
what we are in the habit of terming “‘ proof,” still there 
are many intellects, and those of the loftiest order, to 
which mo proof could bring one iota of additional con- 
viction. Without going into details which might im- 
pinge upon the Cloud-Land of Metaphysics, I may as 
well here observe that the force of conviction, in cases 
such as this, will always, with the right-thinking, be 
proportional with the amount of complexity intervening 
between the hypothesis and the result. To be less 
abstract: — The greatness of the complexity found ex- 
isting among cosmical conditions, by rendering great 
in the same proportion the difficulty of accounting for 
all these conditions, a¢ once, strengthens, also, in the 
same proportion, our faith in that hypothesis which 
does, in such manner, satisfactorily account for them; 
and as zo complexity can well be conceived greater 
than that of the astronomical conditions, so no convic- 

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tion can be stronger — to my mind at least — than that 
with which I am impressed by an hypothesis that not 
only reconciles these conditions with mathematical 
accuracy, and reduces them into a consistent and 
intelligible whole, but is, at the same time, the sole 
hypothesis by means of which the human intellect has 
been ever enabled to account for them af ad. 

A most unfounded opinion has been latterly current 
in gossiping and even in scientific circles — the opinion 
that the so-called Nebular Cosmogony has been over- 
thrown. This fancy has arisen from the report of late 
observations made, among what hitherto have been 
termed the “nebulz,” through the large telescope of 
Cincinnati, and the world-renowned instrument of 
Lord Rosse. Certain spots in the firmament which 
presented, even to the most powerful of the old tele- 
scopes, the appearance of nebulosity, or haze, had 
been regarded for a long time as confirming the theory 
of Laplace. They were looked upon as stars in that 
very process of condensation which I have been at- 
tempting to describe. Thus it was supposed that we 
“had ocular evidence’? —an evidence, by the way, 
which has always been found very questionable — of 
the truth of the hypothesis; and, although certain tele- 
scopic improvements, every now and then, enabled us 
to perceive that a spot, here and there, which we had 
been classing among the nebulz, was, in fact, but a 
cluster of stars deriving its nebular character only 
from its immensity of distance — still it was thought 
that no doubt could exist as to the actual nebulosity 
of numerous other masses, the strongholds of the 
nebulists, bidding defiance to every effort at segrega- 
tion. Of these latter the most interesting was the 
great “nebula” in the constellation Orion; but this, 

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with innumerable other miscalled “nebule,” when 
viewed through the magnificent modern telescopes, 
has become resolved into a simple collection of stars. 
Now, this fact has been very generally understood as 
conclusive against the Nebular Hypothesis of Laplace; 
and, on announcement of the discoveries in question, 
the most enthusiastic defender and most eloquent 
popularizer of the theory, Dr. Nichol, went so far as 
to “admit the necessity of abandoning ” an idea which 
had formed the material of his most praiseworthy 
book. 

Many of my readers will no doubt be inclined to 
say that the result of these new investigations has at 
least a strong tendency to overthrow the hypothesis ; 
while some of them, more thoughtful, will suggest 
that, although the theory is by no means disproved 
through the segregation of the particular “nebule” 
alluded to, still a failure to segregate them, with such 
telescopes, might well have been understood as a tri- 
umphant corroboration of the theory; and this latter 
class will be surprised, perhaps, to hear me say that 
even with them I disagree. If the propositions of 
this Discourse have been comprehended, it will be 
seen that, in my view, a failure to segregate the 


1 “Views of the Architecture of the Heavens.” A letter, pur- 
porting to be from Dr. Nichol to a friend in America, went the 
rounds of our newspapers, about two years ago, I think, admitting 
‘*the necessity ’’ to which I refer. In a subsequent lecture, how- 
ever, Dr. Nichol appears in some manner to have gotten the better of 
the necessity, and does not quite vexounce the theory, although he 
seems to wish that he could sneer at it as “a purely hypothetical 
one.” What else was the Law of Gravity before the Maskelyne 
experiments? and who questioned the Law of Gravity, even then? 
The late experiments of Comte, however, are to the Laplacian 
theory what those of Maskelyne were to the Newtonian. 


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“nebulz ” would have tended to the refutation, rather 
than to the confirmation, of the Nebular Hypothesis. 

Let me explain: The Newtonian Law of Gravity 
we may, of course, assume as demonstrated. This 
law, it will be remembered, I have referred to the 
reaction of the first Divine Act —to the reaction of 
an exercise of the Divine Volition temporarily over- 
coming a difficulty. This difficulty is that of forcing 
the normal into the abnormal—of impelling that 
whose originality, and therefore whose rightful condi- 
tion, was Oxe, to take upon itself the wrongful condi- 
tion of Many. It is only by conceiving this difficulty 
as temporarily overcome, that we can comprehend a 
reaction. There could have been no reaction had the 
act been infinitely continued. So long as the act 
lasted, no reaction, of course, could commence; in 
other words, no gravitation could take place — for we 
have considered the one as but the manifestation of 
the other. But gravitation as taken place; there- 
fore the act of Creation has ceased: and gravitation 
has long ago taken place; therefore the act of Crea- 
tion has long ago ceased. Wecan no more expect, 
then, to observe the primary processes of Creation; and 
to these primary processes the condition of nebulosity 
has already been explained to belong. 

Through what we know of the propagation of light, 
we have direct proof that the more remote of the stars 
have existed, under the forms in which we now see 
them, for an inconceivable number of years. So far 
back af /east, then, as the period when these stars 
underwent condensation, must have been the epoch at 
which the mass-constitutive processes began. That 
we may conceive these processes, then, as still going 
on in the case of certain “nebulez,” while in all other 

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cases we find them thoroughly at an end, we are 
forced into assumptions for which we have really xo 
basis whatever; we have to thrust in, again, upon 
the revolting Reason, the blasphemous idea, of special 
interposition; we have to suppose that, in the par- 
ticular instances of these “nebulz,” an unerring God 
found it necessary to introduce certain supplementary 
regulations — certain improvements of the general law 
— certain retouchings and emendations, in a word, 
which had the effect of deferring the completion of 
these individual stars for centuries of centuries beyond 
the era during which all the other stellar bodies had 
time, not only to be fully constituted, but to grow 
hoary with an unspeakable old age. 

Of course, it will be immediately objected that, 
since the light by which we recognize the nebule 
now must be merely that which left their surfaces 
avast number of years ago, the processes at present 
observed, or supposed to be observed, are, in fact, 
not processes now actually going on, but the phan- 
toms of processes completed long in the Past — just 
as I maintain all these mass-constitutive processes 
must have been. 

To this I reply that neither is the now-observed 
condition of the condensed stars their actual condi- 
tion, but a condition completed long in the Past; so 
that my argument, drawn from the ve/ative condition 
of the stars and the “nebule,” is in no manner dis- 
turbed. Moreover, those who maintain the existence 
of nebule, do zot refer the nebulosity to extreme 
distance; they declare it a real and not merely a 
perspective nebulosity. That we may conceive, in- 
deed, a nebular mass as visible at all, we must con- 
ceive it as very near us in comparison with the 

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condensed stars brought into view by the modern 
telescopes. In maintaining the appearances in ques- 
tion, then, to be really nebulous, we maintain their 
comparative vicinity to our point of view. Thus, 
their condition, as we see them now, must be referred 
to an epoch far less remote than that to which we 
may refer the now-observed condition of at least the 
majority of the stars. In a word, should Astronomy 
ever demonstrate a “nebula,” in the sense at present 
intended, I should consider the Nebular Cosmogony 
— not, indeed, as corroborated by the demonstration 
—but as thereby irretrievably overthrown. 

By way, however, of rendering unto Cesar xo more 
than the things that are Czsar’s, let me here remark 
that the assumption of the hypothesis which led him 
to so glorious a result seems to have been sug- 
gested to Laplace in great measure by a misconcep- 
tion — by the very misconception of which we have 
just been speaking — by the generally prevalent mis- 
understanding of the character of the nebula, so 
misnamed. These he supposed to be, in reality, 
what their designation implies. The fact is, this 
great man had, very properly, an inferior faith in his 
own merely perceptive powers. In respect, therefore, 
to the actual existence of nebulz, an existence so 
confidently maintained by his telescopic contempo- 
raries, he depended less upon what he saw than 
upon what he heard. 

It will be seen that the only valid objections to his 
theory are those made to its hypothesis as such — 
to what suggested it, not to what it suggests — to its 
propositions rather than to its results. His most 
unwarranted assumption was that of giving the atoms 
a movement towards a centre, in the very face of his 

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evident understanding that these atoms, in unlimited 
succession, extended throughout the Universal space. 
I have already shown that, under such circumstances, 
there could have occurred no movement at all; and 
Laplace, consequently, assumed one on no more philo- 
sophical ground than that something of the kind was 
necessary for the establishment of what he intended 
to establish. 

His original idea seems to have been a compound 
of the true Epicurean atoms with the false nebulz 
of his contemporaries; and thus his theory presents 
us with the singular anomaly of absolute truth de- 
duced, as a mathematical result, from a hybrid datum 
of ancient imagination intertangled with modern in- 
acumen. Laplace’s real strength lay, in fact, in an 
almost miraculous mathematical instinct; on this he 
relied, and in no instance did it fail or deceive him; 
in the case of the Nebular Cosmogony, it led him, 
blindfolded, through a labyrinth of Error, into one of 
the most luminous and stupendous temples of Truth. 

Let us now fancy—merely fancy —for the mo- 
ment, that the ring first thrown off by the Sun — that is 
to say, the ring whose breaking-up constituted Neptune 
— did not, in fact, break up until the throwing-off of 
the ring out of which Uranus arose ; that this latter 
ring, again, remained perfect until the discharge 
of that out of which sprang Saturn; that this latter, 
again, remained entire until the discharge of that 
from which originated Jupiter —and so on. Let 
us imagine, ina word, that no dissolution occurred 
among the rings until the final rejection of that which 
gave birth to Mercury. We thus paint to the eye 
of the mind a series of coexistent concentric circles; 
and looking as well at ¢#em as at the processes by 

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which, according to Laplace’s hypothesis, they were 
constructed, we perceive at once a very singular 
analogy with the atomic strata and the process of 
the original radiation as I have described it. Is it 
impossible that, on measuring the forces, respectively, 
by which each successive planetary circle was thrown 
off—that is to say, on measuring the successive 
excesses of rotation over gravitation which occa- 
sioned the successive discharges—we should find 
the analogy in question more decidedly confirmed? 
Is tt improbable that we should discover these forces 
to have varied — as in the original radiation — pro- 
portionally with the squares of the distances ? 

Our solar system, consisting, in chief, of one sun, 
with seventeen planets certainly, and possibly a few 
more, revolving about it at various distances, and 
attended by seventeen moons assuredly, but very 
probably by several others, is now to be considered 
as an example of the innumerable agglomerations 
which proceeded to take place throughout the Uni- 
versal Sphere of atoms on withdrawal of the Divine 
Volition. I mean to say that our solar system is to 
be understood as affording a generic instance of these 
agglomerations, or, more correctly, of the ulterior 
conditions at which they arrived. If we keep our 
attention fixed on the idea of ¢he utmost possible 
Relation as the Omnipotent design, and on the pre- 
cautions taken to accomplish it through difference of 
form, among the original atoms, and particular in- 
equidistance, we shall find it impossible to suppose 
for a moment that even any two of the incipient ag- 
glomerations reached precisely the same result in the 
end. We shall rather be inclined to think that 7o two 
stellar bodies in the Universe — whether suns, planets, 


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or moons —are particularly, while a// are generally, 
similar. Still less, then, can we imagine any two 
assemblages of such bodies — any two “systems ” — 
as having more than a general resemblance.! Our 
telescopes, at this point, thoroughly confirm our de- 
ductions. Taking our own solar system, then, as 
merely a loose or general type of all, we have so far 
proceeded in our subject as to survey the Universe of 
Stars under the aspect of a spherical space, through- 
out which, dispersed with merely general equability, 
exist a number of but generally similar systems. 

Let us now, expanding our conceptions, look upon 
each of these systems as in itself an atom; which in 
fact it is, when we consider it as but one of the count- 
less myriads of systems which constitute the Universe. 
Regarding all, then, as but colossal atoms, each with 
the same ineradicable tendency to Unity which char- 
acterizes the actual atoms of which it consists, we 
enter at once a new order of aggregations. The 
smaller systems, in the vicinity of a larger one, would, 
inevitably, be drawn into still closer vicinity. A thou- 
sand would assemble here; a million there — perhaps 
here, again, even a billion — leaving, thus, immeasur- 
able vacancies in space. And if, now, it be demanded 
why, in the case of these systems — of these merely 
Titanic atoms — I speak, simply, of an “ assemblage,” 
and not, as in the case of the actual atoms, of a more 
or less consolidated agglomeration; if it be asked, for 


1 It is not zmfossible that some unlooked-for optical improve- 
ment may disclose to us, among innumerable varieties of systems, 
a luminous sun, encircled by luminous’ and non-luminous rings, 
within and without and between which revolve luminous and 
non-luminous planets, attended by moons having moons — and 
even these latter again having moons. 


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instance, why I do not carry what I suggest to its 
legitimate conclusion, and describe, at once, these 
assemblages of system-atoms as rushing to consolida- 
tion in spheres—as each becoming condensed into 
one magnificent sun —my reply is that péAdovra radra 
— 1am but pausing, for a moment, on the awful thresh- 
old of the /uture. For the present, calling these 
assemblages “clusters,” we see them in the incipient 
stages of their consolidation. Their absolute consoli- 
dation is to come. 

We have now reached a point from which we behold 
the Universe of Stars as a spherical space, inter- 
spersed, wmequadbly, with clusters. It will be noticed 
that I here prefer the adverb “unequably” to the 
phrase ‘‘ with a merely general equability,” employed 
before. It is evident, in fact, that the equability of 
distribution will diminish in the ratio of the agglom- 
erative processes — that is to say, as the things dis- 
tributed diminish in number. Thus the increase of 
¢mequability — an increase which must continue until, 
sooner or later, an epoch will arrive at which the 
largest agglomeration will absorb all the others — 
should be viewed as, simply, a corroborative indication 
of the tendency to One. 

And here, at length, it seems proper to inquire 
whether the ascertained facts of Astronomy confirm 
the general arrangement which I have thus, deduc- 
tively, assigned to the Heavens. Thoroughly, they do. 
Telescopic observation, guided by the laws of per- 
spective, enables us to understand that the perceptible 
Universe exists as a roughly spherical cluster of clus- 
ters, trregularly disposed. 

The “clusters ” of which this Universal “ cluster of 
clusters” consists, are merely what we have been in 


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the practice of designating “ nebulz ” — and, of these 
“nebule,” ove is of paramount interest to mankind. 
I allude to the Galaxy, or Milky Way. This interests 
us, first and most obviously, on account of its great 
superiority in apparent size, not only to any one other 
cluster in the firmament, but to all the other clusters 
taken together. The largest of these latter occupies 
a mere point, comparatively, and is distinctly seen 
only with the aid of a telescope. The Galaxy sweeps 
throughout the Heaven, and is brilliantly visible to the 
naked eye. But it interests man chiefly, although less 
immediately, on account of its being his home; the 
home of the Earth on which he exists; the home of 
the Sun about which this Earth revolves; the home 
of that “system” of orbs of which the Sun is the 
centre and primary—the Earth one of seventeen 
secondaries, or planets —the Moon one of seventeen 
tertiaries, or satellites. The Galaxy, let me repeat, is 
but one of the clusters which I have been describing; 
but one of the miscalled “nebulze” revealed to us — 
by the telescope alone, sometimes —as faint hazy 
spots in various quarters of the sky. We have no 
reason to suppose the Milky Way veally more exten- 
sive than the least of these ‘“nebulz.” Its vast supe- 
riority in size is but an apparent superiority arising 
from our position in regard to it — that is to say, from 
our position in its midst. However strange the asser- 
tion may at first appear to those unversed in Astron- 
omy, still the astronomer himself has no hesitation in 
asserting that we are zz the midst of that inconceivable 
host of stars — of suns — of systems — which consti- 
tute the Galaxy. Moreover, not only have we—not 
only has our Sun a right to claim the Galaxy as its 
own especial cluster, but, with slight reservation, it 


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may be said that all the distinctly visible stars of the 
firmament, all the stars visible to the naked eye, have 
equally a right to claim it as ¢#ezv own. 

There has been a great deal of misconception in 
respect to the skage of the Galaxy; which, in nearly 
all our astronomical treatises, is said to resemble 
that of a capital Y. The cluster in question has, in 
reality, a certain general — very general resemblance 
to the planet Saturn, with its encompassing triple 
ring. Instead of the solid orb of that planet, however, 
we must picture to ourselves a lenticular star- 
island, or collection of stars; our Sun lying eccen- 
trically — near the shore of the island— on that side 
of it which is nearest the constellation of the Cross 
and farthest from that of Cassiopeia. The surround- 
ing ring, where it approaches our position, has in it 
a longitudinal gash, which does, in fact, cause the 
ring, in our vicinity, to assume, loosely, the appear- 
ance of a capital Y. 

We must not fall into the error, however, of con- 
ceiving the somewhat indefinite girdle as at all 
remote, comparatively speaking, from the also in- 
definite lenticular cluster which it surrounds; and 
thus, for mere purpose of explanation, we may speak 
of our Sun as actually situated at that point of the 
Y where its three component lines unite; and, con- 
ceiving this letter to be of a certain solidity — of a 
certain thickness, very trivial in comparison with its 
length — we may even speak of our position as zx the 
middle of this thickness. Fancying ourselves thus 
placed, we shall no longer find difficulty in account- 
ing for the phenomena presented, which are per- 
spective altogether. When we look upward or down- 
ward — that is to say, when we cast our eyes in the 


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direction of the letter’s ¢hzckness — we look through 
fewer stars than when we cast them in the direction 
of its length, or along either of the three component 
lines. Of course, in the former case, the stars ap- 
pear scattered — in the latter, crowded. To reverse 
this explanation :— An inhabitant of the Earth, when 
looking, as we commonly express ourselves, a¢ the 
Galaxy, is then beholding it in some of the direc- 
tions of its length — is looking along the lines of the 
Y; but when, looking out into the general Heaven, 
he turns his eyes from the Galaxy, he is then survey- 
ing it in the direction of the letter’s thickness ; and 
on this account the stars seem to him scattered; 
while, in fact, they are as close together, on an 
average, as in the mass of the cluster. No consid- 
eration could be better adapted to convey an idea of 
this cluster’s stupendous extent. 

If, with a telescope of high space-penetrating 
power, we carefully inspect the firmament, we shall 
become aware of a belt of clusters — of what we have 
hitherto called “nebule” — a édand, of varying 
breadth, stretching from horizon to horizon, at right 
angles to the general course of the Milky Way. This 
band is the ultimate cluster of clusters. This belt is 
The Universe of Stars. Our Galaxy is but one, and 
perhaps one of the most inconsiderable, of the 
clusters which go to the constitution of this ultimate, 
Universal de/t or band. The appearance of this 
cluster of clusters, to our eyes, as a belt or band, is 
altogether a perspective phenomenon of the same 
character as that which causes us to behold our own 
individual and roughly-spherical cluster, the Galaxy, 
under guise also of a belt, traversing the Heavens at 
right angles to the Universal one. The shape of the 


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all-inclusive cluster is, of course generally, that of 
each individual cluster which it includes. Just as the 
scattered stars which, on looking from the Galaxy, 
we see in the general sky, are, in fact, but a portion 
of that Galaxy itself, and as closely intermingled with 
it as any of the telescopic points in what seems the 
densest portion of its mass — so are the scattered 
“nebule ”. which, on casting our eyes from the 
Universal de/t, we perceive at all points of the fir- 
mament — so, I say, are these scattered “ nebulz” to 
be understood as only perspectively scattered, and as 
but a portion of the one supreme and Universal sphere. 

No astronomical fallacy is more untenable, and none 
has been more pertinaciously adhered to, than that of 
the absolute z//imztation of the Universe of Stars. 
The reasons for limitation, as I have already assigned 
them, a Zriorz, seem to me unanswerable; but, not to 
speak of these, observation assures us that there is, in 
numerous directions around us, certainly, if not in all, 
a positive limit — or, at the very least, affords us no 
basis whatever for thinking otherwise. Were the 
succession of stars endless, then the background of 
the sky would present us an uniform luminosity, like 
that displayed by the Galaxy — since there could be 
absolutely no point, in all that background, at which 
would not exist a star. The only mode, therefore, in 
which, under such a state of affairs, we could com- 
prehend the wvozds which our telescopes find in 
innumerable directions, would be by supposing the 
distance of the invisible background so immense that 
no ray from it has yet been able to reach us at all. 
That this way be so, who shall venture to deny? I 
maintain, simply, that we have not even the shadow 
of a reason for believing that it zs so. 


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When speaking of the vulgar propensity to regard 
all bodies on the Earth as tending merely to the 
Earth’s centre, I observed that, “ with certain excep- 
tions to be specified hereafter, every body on the 
Earth tends not only to the Earth’s centre, but in 
every conceivable direction besides.”1 The “ excep- 
tions’ refer to those frequent gaps in the Heavens, 
where our utmost scrutiny can detect not only no 
stellar bodies, but no indications of their existence; 
where yawning chasms, blacker than Erebus, seem 
to afford us glimpses, through the boundary walls of 
the Universe of Stars, into the illimitable Universe of 
Vacancy, beyond. Now, as any body, existing on 
the Earth, chances to pass, either through its own 
movement or the Earth’s, into a line with any one 
of these voids, or cosmical abysses, it clearly is no 
longer attracted zx the direction of that void, and for 
the moment, consequently, is “heavier” than at any 
period, either after or before. Independently of the 
consideration of these voids, however, and looking 
only at the generally unequable distribution of the 
stars, we see that the absolute tendency of bodies on 
the Earth to the Earth’s centre is in a state of 
perpetual variation. 

We comprehend, then, the insulation of our Uni- 
verse. We perceive the isolation of that — of all 
that which we grasp with the senses. We know 
that there exists one cluster of clusters — a collection 
around which, on all sides, extend the immeasurable 
wildernesses of a Space to all human perception un- 
tenanted. But decause on the confines of this Uni- 
verse of Stars we are compelled to pause, through 
want of farther evidence from the senses, is it right 

1 Page 37. 
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to conclude that, in fact, there zs no material point 
beyond that which we have thus been permitted to 
attain? Have we, or have we not, an analogical right 
to the inference that this perceptible Universe, that 
this cluster of clusters, is but one of @ serzes of clusters 
of clusters, the rest of which are invisible through dis- 
tance — through the diffusion of their light being so 
excessive, ere it reaches us, as not to produce upon 
our retine a light-impression — or from there being 
no such emanation as light at all, in those unspeak- 
ably distant worlds — or, lastly, from the mere in- 
terval being so vast that the electric tidings of their 
presence in Space have not yet — through the lapsing 
myriads of years — been enabled to traverse that 
interval ? 

Have we any right to inferences—have we any 
ground whatever for visions such as these? If we 
have a right to them in azy degree, we have a right to 
their infinite extension. 

The human brain has obviously a leaning to the 
“ Infinite,’ and fondles the phantom of the idea. It 
seems to long with a passionate fervor for this im- 
possible conception, with the hope of intellectually 
believing it when conceived. What is general among 
the whole race of Man, of course no individual of that 
race can be warranted in considering abnormal; 
nevertheless, there may be a class of superior intelli- 
gences, to whom the human bias alluded to may wear 
all the character of monomania. 

My question, however, remains unanswered : — 
Have we any right to infer —let us say, rather, to 
imagine — an interminable succession of the “ clusters 
of clusters,” or of ‘“ Universes ” more or less similar? 

I reply that the “right,” in a case such as this, de- 

VOL. ix.— 7 97 


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pends absolutely on the hardihood of that imagination 
which ventures to claim the right. Let me declare, 
only, that, as an individual, I myself feel impelled to 
fancy —without daring to call it more—that there 
does exist a limitless succession of Universes, more or 
less similar to that of which we have cognizance, to 
that of which alone we shall ever have cognizance, at 
the very least until the return of our own particular 
Universe into Unity. Zf such clusters of clusters 
exist, however — and they do— it is abundantly clear 
that, having had no part in our origin, they have no 
portion in our laws. They neither attract us, nor we 
them. Their material, their spirit, is not ours —is not 
that which obtains in any part of our Universe. They 
could not impress our senses or our souls. Among 
them and us— considering all, for the moment, collec- 
tively —there are no influences in common. Each 
exists, apart and independently, zz the bosom of its 
proper and particular God. 

In the conduct of this Discourse, I am aiming less 
at physical than at metaphysical order. The clear- 
ness with which even material phenomena are pre- 
sented to the understanding depends very little, I 
have long since learned to perceive, upon a merely 
natural, and almost altogether upon a moral, arrange- 
ment. If then I seem to step somewhat too discur- 
sively from point to point of my topic, let me suggest 
that I do so in the hope of thus the better keeping 
unbroken that chain of graduated impression by 
which alone the intellect of Man can expect to en- 
compass the grandeurs of which I speak, and, in their 
majestic totality, to comprehend them. 

So far, our attention has been directed, almost ex- 
clusively, to a general and relative grouping of the 


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stellar bodies in space. Of specification there has 
been little; and whatever ideas of guantity have been 
conveyed — that is to say, of number, magnitude, and 
distance — have been conveyed incidentally and by 
way of preparation for more definitive conceptions. 
These latter let us now attempt to entertain. 

Our solar system, as has been already mentioned, 
consists, in chief, of one sun and seventeen planets 
certainly, but in all probability a few others, revolving 
around it as a centre, and attended by seventeen 
moons of which we know, with possibly several more 
of which as yet we know nothing. These various 
bodies are not true spheres, but oblate spheroids — 
spheres flattened at the poles of the imaginary axes 
about which they rotate; the flattening being a con- 
sequence of the rotation. Neither is the Sun abso- 
lutely the centre of the system; for this Sun itself, 
with all the planets, revolves about a perpetually 
shifting point of space, which is the system’s general 
centre of gravity. Neither are we to consider the 
paths through which these different spheroids move — 
the moons about the planets, the planets about the 
Sun, or the Sun about the common centre — as circles 
in an accurate sense. They are, in fact, ellipses — 
one of the foci being the point about which the revolu- 
tion 1s made. An ellipse is a curve, returning into 
itself, one of whose diameters is longer than the other. 
In) the longer diameter are two points, equidistant 
from the middle of the line, and so situated otherwise 
that, if from each of them a straight line be drawn to 
any one point of the curve, the two lines, taken 
together, will be equal to the long diameter itself. 
Now let us conceive such an ellipse. At one of the 
points mentioned, which are the /vcz, let us fasten an 


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orange. By an elastic thread let us connect this 
orange with a pea; and let us place this latter on the 
circumference of the ellipse. Let us now move the 
pea continuously around the orange, keeping always 
on the circumference of the ellipse. The elastic 
thread, which, of course, varies in length as we move 
the pea, will form what in geometry is called a radius 
vector. Now, if the orange be understood as the 
Sun, and the pea as a planet revolving about it, then 
the revolution should be made at such a rate — with a 
velocity so varying — that the radius vector may pass 
over egual areas of space in equal times. The pro- 
gress of the pea should be—in other words, the 
progress of the planet zs, of course — slow in propor- 
tion to its distance from the Sun, swift in proportion 
to its proximity. Those planets, moreover, move the 
more slowly which are the farther from the Sun; ¢he 
squares of their periods of revolution having the same 
proportion to each other, as have to each other the 
cubes of their mean distances from the Sun. 

The wonderfully complex laws of revolution here 
described, however, are not to be understood as ob- 
taining in our system alone. They everywhere pre- 
vail where Attraction prevails. They control she 
Universe of Stars. Every shining speck in the fir- 
mament is, no doubt, a luminous Sun, resembling our 
own, at least in its general features, and having in 
attendance upon it a greater or less number of 
planets, greater or less, whose still lingering lumi- 
nosity is not sufficient to render them visible to us 
at so vast a distance, but which, nevertheless, revolve, 
moon-attended, about their starry centres, in obedi- 
ence to the principles just detailed — in obedience to 
the three omniprevalent laws of revolution, the three 

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immortal laws guessed by the imaginative Kepler, and 
but subsequently demonstrated and accounted for by 
the patient and mathematical Newton. Among a 
tribe of philosophers who pride themselves excessively 
upon matter-of-fact, it is far too fashionable to sneer 
at all speculation under the comprehensive sodrzguet, 
“ ouess-work.” The point to be considered is, who 
guesses. In guessing with Plato, we spend our time 
to better purpose, now and then, than in hearkening to 
a demonstration by Alcmzon. 

In many works on Astronomy I find it distinctly 
stated that the laws of Kepler are the basis of the 
great principle, Gravitation. This idea must have 
arisen from the fact that the suggestion of these laws 
by Kepler, and his proving them @ osteriori to have 
an actual existence, led Newton to account for them 
by the hypothesis of Gravitation, and, finally, to de- 
monstrate them @ frzorz, as necessary consequences 
of the hypothetical principle. Thus, so far from the 
laws of Kepler being the basis of Gravity, Gravity is 
the basis of these laws, as it is, indeed, of all the laws 
of the material Universe which are not referable to 
Repulsion alone. 

The mean distance of the Earth from the Moon — 
that is to say, from the heavenly body in our closest 
vicinity —is two hundred and thirty-seven thousand 
miles. Mercury, the planet nearest the Sun, is dis- 
tant from him thirty-seven millions of miles. Venus, 
the next, revolves at a distance of sixty-eight millions ; 
the Earth, which comes next, at a distance of ninety- 
five millions; Mars, then, at a distance of one hundred 
and forty-four millions. Now come the nine Aste- 
roids (Ceres, Juno, Vesta, Pallas, Astrza, Flora, Iris, 
Hebe, and ——) at an average distance of about two 

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hundred and fifty millions. .Then we have Jupiter, 
distant four hundred and ninety millions; then Saturn, 
nine hundred millions; then Uranus, nineteen hundred 
millions; finally Neptune, lately discovered, and re- 
volving at a distance, say of twenty-eight hundred 
millions. Leaving Neptune out of the account — of 
which as yet we know little accurately and which is, 
possibly, one of a system of Asteroids — it will be 
seen that, within certain limits, there exists an order 
of interval among the planets. Speaking loosely, we 
may say that each outer planet is twice as far from 
the Sun as is the next inner one. May not the order 
here mentioned — may not the law of Bode— be de- 
duced from consideration of the analogy suggested by 
meas having place between the solar discharge of rings 
and the mode of the atomic radiation ? 

The numbers hurriedly mentioned in this summary 
of distance it is folly to attempt comprehending, 
unless in the light of abstract arithmetical facts. 
They are not practically tangible ones. They con- 
vey no precise ideas. I have stated that Neptune, 
the planet farthest from the Sun, revolves about him 
at a distance of twenty-eight hundred millions of miles. 
So far good: — I have stated a mathematical fact ; and, 
without comprehending it in the least, we may put it to 
use — mathematically. But in mentioning, even, that 
the Moon revolves about the Earth at the compara- 
tively trifling distance of two hundred and thirty-seven 
thousand miles, I entertained no expectation of giving 
any one to understand — to know — to feel — how far 
from the Earth the Moon actually zs. Two hundred 
and thirty-seven thousand mz/es! There are, per- 
haps, few of my readers who have not crossed the At- 
lantic Ocean; yet how many of them have a distinct 

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idea of even the three thousand miles intervening be- 
tween shore and shore? I doubt, indeed, whether the 
man lives who can force into his brain the most remote 
conception of the interval between one milestone and 
its next neighbor upon the turnpike. We are in some 
measure aided, however, in our consideration of dis- 
tance, by combining this consideration with the kin- 
dred one of velocity. Sound passes through eleven 
hundred feet of space in a second of time. Now were 
it possible for an inhabitant of the Earth to see the 
flash of a cannon discharged in the Moon, and to hear 
the report, he would have to wait, after perceiving the 
former, more than thirteen entire days and nights be- 
fore getting any intimation of the latter. 

However feeble be the impression, even thus con- 
veyed, of the Moon’s real distance from the Earth, it 
will, nevertheless, effect a good object in enabling us 
more clearly to see the futility of attempting to grasp 
such intervals as that of the twenty-eight hundred mil- 
lions of miles between our Sun and Neptune; or even 
that of the ninety-five millions between the Sun and 
the Earth we inhabit. A cannon-ball, flying at the 
greatest velocity with which such a ball has ever been 
known to fly, could not traverse the latter interval in 
less than twenty years ; while for the former it would 
require five hundred and ninety. 

Our Moon’s real diameter is 2,160 miles; yet she is 
comparatively so trifling an object that it would take 
nearly fifty such orbs to compose one as great as the 
Earth. 

The diameter of our own globe is 7,912 miles; but 
from the enunciation of these numbers what positive 
idea do we derive? 

If we ascend an ordinary mountain and look around 

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us from its summit, we behold a landscape stretching, 
say forty miles, in every direction; forming a circle 
two hundred and fifty miles in circumference; and in- 
cluding an area of five thousand square miles. The 
extent of such a prospect, on account of the successtve- 
ness with which its portions necessarily present them- 
selves to view, can be only very feebly and very 
partially appreciated ; yet the entire panorama would 
comprehend no more than one forty-thousandth part of 
the mere surface of our globe. Were this panorama, 
then, to be succeeded, after the lapse of an hour, by an- 
other of equal extent; this again by a third, after the 
lapse of an hour; this again by a fourth, afterthe lapse of 
another hour — and so on, until the scenery of the whole 
Earth were exhausted ; and were we to be engaged in 
examining these various panoramas for twelve hours 
of every day; we should, nevertheless, be nine years 
and forty-eight days in completing the general survey. 

But if the mere surface of the Earth eludes the 
grasp of the imagination, what are we to think of its 
cubical contents? It embraces a mass of matter 
equal in weight to at least two sextillions, two hun- 
dred quintillions of tons. Let us suppose it in a 
state of quiescence; and now let us endeavor to 
conceive a mechanical force sufficient to set it in 
motion! Not the strength of all the myriads of 
beings whom we may conclude to inhabit the planet- 
ary worlds of our system, not the combined physical 
strength of a//7 these beings — even admitting all to 
be more powerful than man — would avail to stir the 
ponderous mass a@ single inch from its position. 

What are we to understand, then, of the force 
which, under similar circumstances, would be re- 
quired to move the /argest of our planets, Jupiter? 


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This is eighty-six thousand miles in diameter, and 
would include within its surface more than a thousand 
orbs of the magnitude of ourown. Yet this stupen- 
dous body is actually flying around the sun at the 
rate of twenty-nine thousand miles an hour — that is 
to say, with a velocity forty times greater than that 
of a cannon-ball! The thought of such a phenom- 
enon cannot well be said to startle the mind; it 
palsies and appalls it. Not unfrequently we task our 
imagination in picturing the capacities of an angel. 
Let us fancy such a being at a distance of some 
hundred miles from Jupiter, a close eye-witness of 
this planet as it speeds on its annual revolution. 
Now can we, I demand, fashion for ourselves any 
conception so distinct of this ideal being’s spiritual 
exaltation, as that involved in the supposition that, 
even by this immeasurable mass of matter whirled 
immediately before his eyes, with a velocity so un- 
utterable, he — an angel — angelic though he be — is 
not at once struck into nothingness and overwhelmed? 

At this point, however, it seems proper to suggest 
that, in fact, we have been speaking of comparative 
trifles. Our Sun — the central and controlling orb 
of the system to which Jupiter belongs — is not only 
greater than Jupiter, but greater by far than all the 
planets of the system taken together. This fact is 
an essential condition, indeed, of the stability of the 
system itself. The diameter of Jupiter has been 
mentioned ; it is eighty-six thousand miles; that of 
the Sun is eight hundred and eighty-two thousand 
miles. An inhabitant of the latter, travelling ninety 
miles a day, would be more than eighty years in 
going round its circumference. It occupies a cubi- 
cal space of 681 quadrillions, 472 trillions of miles. 

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The Moon, as has been stated, revolves about the 
Earth at a distance of two hundred and thirty-seven 
thousand miles — in an orbit, consequently, of nearly 
a million and a half. Now, were the Sun placed 
upon the Earth, centre over centre, the body of the 
former would extend, in every direction, not only to 
the line of the Moon’s orbit, but beyond it a distance 
of two hundred thousand miles. 

And here, once again, let me suggest that, in fact, 
we have sti/7 been speaking of comparative trifles. 
The distance of the planet Neptune from the Sun 
has been stated; it is twenty-eight hundred millions 
of miles; its orbit, therefore, is about seventeen 
billions. Let this be borne in mind while we glance 
at some one of the brightest stars. Between this and 
the star of our system (the Sun) there is a gulf of 
space, to convey any idea of which we should need 
the tongue of an archangel. From our system, then, 
and from our Sun, or star, the star at which we 
suppose ourselves glancing is a thing altogether 
apart ; — still, for the moment, let us imagine it placed 
upon our Sun, centre over centre, as we just now 
imagined this Sun itself placed upon the Earth. Let 
us now conceive the particular star we have in mind, 
extending, in every direction, beyond the orbit of 
Mercury — of Venus — of the Earth: — still on, 
beyond the orbit of Mars — of the Asteroids — of 
Jupiter — of Saturn — of Uranus — until, finally, we 
fancy it filling the circle, seventeen btllions of miles 
in circumference, which is described by the revolution 
of Leverrier’s planet. When we have conceived all 
this, we shall have entertained no extravagant con- 
ception. There is the very best reason for believing 
that many of the stars are even far larger than the 

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one we have imagined. I mean to say that we have 
the very best empirical basis for such belief; and, 
in looking back at the original, atomic arrangements 
for diverstty, which have been assumed as a part of 
the Divine plan in the constitution of the Universe, 
we shall be enabled easily to understand, and to credit, 
the existence of even far vaster disproportions in stellar 
size than any to which I have hitherto alluded. The 
largest orbs, of course, we must expect to find rolling 
through the widest vacancies of Space. 

I remarked, just now, that, to convey an idea of 
the interval between our Sun and any one of the 
other stars, we should require the eloquence of an 
archangel. In so saying, I should not be accused 
of exaggeration; for, in simple truth, these are topics 
on which it is scarcely possible to exaggerate. But 
let us bring the matter more distinctly before the eye 
of the mind. 

In the first place, we may get a general, relative 
conception of the interval referred to, by comparing 
it with the interplanetary spaces. If, for example, 
we suppose the Earth, which is, in reality, ninety- 
five millions of miles from the Sun, to be only one 
foot from that luminary; then Neptune would be 
forty feet distant; and the star, Alpha Lyre, at the 
very least, one hundred and fifty-nine. 

Now, I presume that, in the termination of my last 
sentence, few of my readers have noticed anything 
especially objectionable — particularly wrong. I said 
that the distance of the Earth from the Sun being 
taken at ove foot, the distance of Neptune would be 
forty feet, and that of Alpha Lyre one hundred and 
fifty-nine. The proportion between one foot and 
one hundred and fifty-nine has appeared, perhaps, 

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to convey a sufficiently definite impression of the 
proportion between the two intervals — that of the 
Earth from the Sun, and that of Alpha Lyre from 
the same luminary. But my account of the matter 
should, in reality, have run thus: — The distance of 
the Earth from the Sun being taken at one foot, the 
distance of Neptune would be forty feet, and that 
of Alpha Lyrz one hundred and fifty-nine — m7/es ; 
that is to say, I had assigned to Alpha Lyre, in my 
first statement of the case, only the 5280¢h part of 
that distance which is the least distance possible at 
which it can actually lie. 

To proceed: — However distant a mere Planet is, 
yet when we look at it through a telescope we see it 
under a certain form — of a certain appreciable size. 
Nvev I have already hinted at the probable bulk of 
ny, of the stars; nevertheless, when we view any 
& 7 of them, even through the most powerful tele- 
scope, it is found to present us with zo form, and 
consequently with zo magnitude whatever. We see it 
as a point, and nothing more. 

Again: — Let us suppose ourselves walking, at 
night, on a highway. In a field on one side of the 
road is a line of tall objects, say trees, the figures of 
which are distinctly defined against the background of 
the sky. This line of objects extends at right angles 
to the road, and from the road to the horizon. Now, 
as we proceed along the road, we see these objects 
changing their positions, respectively, in relation to a 
certain fixed point in that portion of the firmament 
which forms the background of the view. Let us 
suppose this fixed point—sufficiently fixed for our 
purpose — to be the rising moon. We become aware, 
at once, that while the tree nearest us so far alters its 

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position, in respect to the moon, as to seem flying 
behind us, the tree in the extreme distance has 
scarcely changed at all its relative position with the 
satellite. We then go on to perceive that the farther 
the objects are from us, the less they alter their posi- 
tions; and the converse. Then we begin, unwittingly, 
to estimate the distances of individual trees by the 
degrees in which they evince the relative alteration. 
Finally, we come to understand how it might be pos- 
sible to ascertain the actual distance of any given tree 
in the line by using the amount of relative alteration 
as a basis in a simple geometrical problem. Now, 
this relative alteration is what we call “parallax;” 
and by parallax we calculate the distances of the 
heavenly bodies. Applying the principle to the trees 
in question, we should, of course, be very much at a 
loss to comprehend the distance of shat tree, which, 
however far we proceeded along the road, should 
evince wo parallax at all. This, in the case described, 
is a thing impossible; but impossible only because all 
distances on our Earth are trivial indeed; in com- 
parison with the vast cosmical quantities, we may 
speak of them as absolutely nothing. 

Now, let us suppose the star Alpha Lyre directly 
overhead; and let us imagine that, instead of standing 
on the Earth, we stand at one end of a straight road 
stretching through Space to a distance equalling the 
diameter of the Earth’s orbit— that is to say, toa 
distance of one hundred and ninety millions of miles. 
Having observed, by means of the most delicate micro- 
metrical instruments, the exact position of the star, let 
us now pass along this inconceivable road, until we 
reach the other extremity. Now, once again, let us 
look at the star. It is Arecisely where we left it. Our 

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instruments, however delicate, assure us that its rela- 
tive position is absolutely — is identically the same, as 
at the commencement of our unutterable journey. /Vo 
parallax — none whatever — has been found. 

The fact is, that, in regard to the distance of the 
fixed stars —of any one of the myriads of suns glis- 
tening on the farther side of that awful chasm which 
separates our system from its brothers in the cluster 
to which it belongs — astronomical science, until very 
lately, could speak only with a negative certainty. 
Assuming the brightest as the nearest, we could say, 
even of ¢hem, only that there is a certain incompre- 
hensible distance on the zther side of which they ~ 
cannot be; how far they are beyond it we had in no 
case been able to ascertain. We perceived, for exam- 
ple, that Alpha Lyra cannot be nearer to us than 
nineteen trillions, two hundred billions of miles; but, 
for all we knew, and indeed for all we now know, it 
may be distant from us the square, or the cube, or any 
other power of the number mentioned. By dint, how- 
ever, of wonderfully minute and cautious observations, 
continued, with novel instruments, for many laborious 
years, Bessel, not long ago deceased, has lately suc- 
ceeded in determining the distance of six or seven 
stars; among others, that of the star numbered 61 in 
the constellation of the Swan. The distance in this 
latter instance ascertained, is six hundred and seventy 
thousand times that of the Sun; which last, it will be 
remembered, is ninety-five millions of miles. The star 
61 Cygni, then, is nearly sixty-four trillions of miles 
from us —or more than three times the distance 
assigned, as the least possible, for Alpha Lyre. 

In attempting to appreciate this interval by the aid 
of any considerations of ve/océty, as we did in endeav- 

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oring to estimate the distance of the Moon, we must 
leave out of sight, altogether, such nothings as the 
speed of a cannon-ball, or of sound. Light, however, 
according to the latest calculations of Struve, proceeds 
at the rate of one hundred and sixty-seven thousand 
miles ina second. Thought itself cannot pass through 
this interval more speedily — if, indeed, thought can 
traverse it at all. Yet, in coming from 61 Cygni to 
us, even at this inconceivable rate, light occupies 
more than fen years; and, consequently, were the star 
this moment blotted out from the Universe, still, for 
ten years, would it continue to sparkle on, undimmed 
in its paradoxical glory. 

Keeping now in mind whatever feeble conception 
we may have attained of the interval between our Sun 
and 61 Cygni, let us remember that this interval, 
however unutterably vast, we are permitted to con- 
sider as but the average interval among the countless 
host of stars composing that cluster, or “nebula,” to 
which our system, as well as that of 61 Cygni, belongs. 
I have, in fact, stated the case with great moderation ; 
— we have excellent reason for believing 61 Cygni to 
be one of the zeares¢t stars, and thus for concluding, 
at least for the present, that its distance from us is 
Zess than the average distance between star and star 
in the magnificent cluster of the Milky Way. 

And here, once again and finally, it seems proper to 
suggest that even as yet we have been speaking of 
trifles. Ceasing to wonder at the space between star 
and star in our own or in any particular cluster, let 
us rather turn our thoughts to the intervals between 
cluster and cluster, in the all-comprehensive cluster of 
the Universe. 

I have already said that light proceeds at the rate 

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of one hundred and sixty-seven thousand miles in a 
second —that is, about ten millions of miles in a 
minute, or about six hundred millions of miles in 
an hour; yet so far removed from us are some of the 
“nebule” that even light, speeding with this velocity, 
could not and ‘does not reach us, from those myste- 
rious regions, in less than ‘three millions of years. 
This calculation, moreover, is made by the elder 
Herschel, and in reference merely to those compara- 
tively proximate clusters within the scope of his own 
telescope. There ave “nebule,” however, which, 
through the magical tube of Lord Rosse, are this 
instant whispering in our ears the secrets of a million 
of ages bygone. In a word, the events which we 
behold now —at this moment — in those worlds — are 
the identical events which interested their inhabitants 
ten hundred thousand centuries ago. In intervals, 
in distances, such as this suggestion forces upon the 
soul rather than upon the mind, we find, at length, a 
fitting climax to all hitherto frivolous considerations of 
guantity. 

Our fancies thus occupied with the cosmical dis- 
tances, let us take the opportunity of referring to the 
difficulty which we have so often experienced, while 
pursuing ¢he beaten path of astronomical reflection, zz 
accounting for the immeasurable voids alluded to; in 
comprehending why chasms so totally unoccupied and 
therefore apparently so needless, have been made to 
intervene between star and star, between cluster and 
cluster; in understanding, to be brief, a sufficient 
reason for the Titanic scale, in respect of mere Space, 
on which the Universe of Stars is seen to be con- 
structed. A rational cause for the phenomenon, I 
maintain that Astronomy has palpably failed to 

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assign; but the considerations through which, in this 
essay, we have proceeded step by step, enable us 
clearly and immediately to perceive that Space and 
Duration are one. That the Universe of Stars might 
endure throughout an era at all commensurate with 
the grandeur of its component material portions and 
with the high majesty of its spiritual purposes, it was 
necessary that the original atomic diffusion be made 
to so inconceivable an extent as to be only not infinite. 
It was required, in a word, that the stars should be 
gathered into visibility from invisible nebulosity — 
proceed from visibility to consolidation — and so grow 
gray in giving birth and death to unspeakably numer- 
ous and complex variations of vitallic development; it 
was required that the stars should do all this — should 
have time thoroughly to accomplish all these Divine 
purposes — during the period in which all things were 
effecting their return into Unity with a velocity ac- 
cumulating in the inverse proportion of the squares of 
the distances at which lay the inevitable End. 
Throughout all this we have no difficulty in un- 
derstanding the absolute accuracy of the Divine 
adaptation. The density of the stars, respectively, 
proceeds, of course, as their condensation diminishes ; 
condensation and heterogeneity keep pace with each 
other; through the latter, which is the index of the 
former, we estimate the vitallic and spiritual develop- 
ment. Thus, in the density of the globes, we have 
the measure in which their purposes are fulfilled. As 
density proceeds —as the Divine intentions ave ac- 
complished — as less and still less remains fo be 
accomplished — so, in the same ratio, should we ex- 
pect to find an acceleration of the End; and thus the 
philosophical mind will easily comprehend that the 
VOL. Ix. — 8 113 


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Divine designs in constituting the stars advance 
mathematically to their fulfilment ;— and more, it will 
readily give the advance a mathematical expression; 
it will decide that this advance is inversely proportional 
with the squares of the distances of all created things 
from the starting-point and goal of their creation. 

Not only is this Divine adaptation, however, mathe- 
matically accurate, but there is that about it which 
stamps it as Divine, in distinction from that which 
is merely the work of human constructiveness. I 
allude to the complete mutualzty of adaptation. For 
example, in human constructions a particular cause 
has a particular effect; a particular intention brings 
to pass a particular object, but this is all; we see 
no reciprocity. The effect does not react upon the 
cause; the intention does not change relations with 
the object. In Divine constructions the object is 
either design or object as we choose to regard it — 
and we may take at any time a cause for an effect, 
or the converse —so that we can never absolutely 
decide which is which. 

To give an instance: — In polar climates the human 
frame, to maintain its animal heat, requires, for com- 
bustion in the capillary system, an abundant supply 
of highly azotized food, such as train-oil. But again: 
—in polar climates nearly the sole food afforded 
man is the oil of abundant seals and whales. Now, 
whether is oil at hand because imperatively de- 
manded, or the only thing demanded because the 
only thing to be obtained? It is impossible to de- 
cide. There is an absolute reciprocity of adaptation. 

The pleasure which we derive from any display 
of human ingenuity is in the ratio of the approach 
to this species of reciprocity. In the construction 


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of plot, for example, in fictitious literature, we should 
aim at so arranging the incidents that we shall not 
be able to determine, of any one of them, whether 
it depends from any one other or upholds it. In 
this sense, of course, perfection of plot is really, or 
practically, unattainable — but only because it is a 
finite intelligence that constructs. The plots of God 
are perfect. The Universe is a plot of God. 

And now we have reached a point at which the 
intellect is forced, again, to struggle against its pro- 
pensity for analogical inference — against its mono- 
maniac grasping at the infinite. Moons have been 
seen revolving about planets; planets about stars; 
and the poetical instinct of humanity —its instinct 
of the symmetrical, even if the symmetry be but a 
symmetry of surface —this zzs¢énct, which the Soul, 
not only of Man but of all created beings, took up, 
in the beginning, from the geometrical basis of the 
Universal radiation—impels us to the fancy of an 
endless extension of this system of cycles. Closing 
our eyes equally to deduction and zzduction, we in- 
sist upon imagining a revolution of all the orbs of 
the Galaxy about some gigantic globe which we take 
to be the central pivot of the whole. Each cluster 
in the great cluster of clusters is imagined, of course, 
to be similarly supplied and constructed; while, that 
the “analogy” may be wanting at no point, we go 
on to conceive these clusters themselves, again, as 
revolving about some still more august sphere; — 
this latter, still again, wth its encircling clusters, as 
but one of a yet more magnificent series of agglom- 
erations, gyrating about yet another orb central Zo 
them —some orb still more unspeakably sublime — 
some orb, let us rather say, of infinite sublimity end- 


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lessly multiplied by the infinitely sublime. Such are 
the conditions, continued in perpetuity, which the 
voice of what some people term “ analogy ” calls upon 
the Fancy to depict and the Reason to contemplate, 
if possible, without becoming dissatisfied with the 
picture. Such, zz generad, are the interminable gyra- 
tions beyond gyrations which we have been instructed 
by Philosophy to comprehend and to account for —at 
least inthe best manner we can. Now and then, how- 
ever, a philosopher proper—one whose frenzy takes 
a very determinate turn—whose genius, to speak 
more reverentially, has a strongly-pronounced washer- 
womanish bias, doing everything up by the dozen 
—enables us to see Precisely that point out of sight, 
at which the revolutionary processes in question do, 
and of right ought to, come to an end. 

It is hardly worth while, perhaps, even to sneer 
at the reveries of Fourier; but much has been said, 
latterly, of the hypothesis of Madler—that there 
exists, in the centre of the Galaxy, a stupendous globe 
about which all the systems of the cluster revolve. 
The feriod of our own, indeed, has been stated — 
one hundred and seventeen millions of years. 

That our Sun has a motion in space, independently 
of its rotation, and revolution about the system’s centre 
of gravity, has long been suspected. This motion, 
granting it to exist, would be manifested perspectively. 
The stars in that firmamental region which we were 
leaving behind us, would, in a very long series of 
years, become crowded; those in the opposite quarter, 
scattered. Now, by means of astronomical History, 
we ascertain, cloudily, that some such phenomena have 
occurred. On this ground it has been declared that 
our system is moving to a point in the heavens dia- 

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metrically opposite the star Zeta Herculis; but this 
inference is, perhaps, the maximum to which we have 
any logical right. Méadler, however, has gone so far 
as to designate a particular star, Alcyone in the 
Pleiades, as being at or about the very spot around 
which a general revolution is performed. 

Now, since by “analogy” we are led, in the first 
instance, to these dreams, it is no more than proper 
that we should abide by analogy, at least in some 
measure, during their development; and ¢#a?¢ analogy, 
which suggests the revolution, suggests at the same 
time a central orb about which it should be performed; 
so far the astronomer was consistent. This central 
orb, however, should, dynamically, be greater than all 
the orbs, taken together, which surround it. Of these 
there are about one hundred millions. “Why, then,” 
it was of course demanded, “do we not see this vast 
central sun — at least equal in mass to one hundred 
millions of such suns as ours; why do we not see it — 
qwe, especially, who occupy the mid region of the 
cluster, the very locality ear which, at all events, 
must be situated this incomparable star?” The reply 
was ready— “It must be non-luminous, as are our 
planets.” Here, then, to suit a purpose, analogy is 
suddenly let fall. “Not so,” it may be said, “we 
know that non-luminous suns actually exist.” It is 
true that we have reason at least for supposing so; 
but we have certainly no reason whatever for suppos- 
ing that the non-luminous suns in question are en- 
circled by Juminous suns, while these again are 
surrounded by non-luminous planets; and it is pre- 
cisely all this with which Madler is called upon to 
find anything analogous in the heavens—for it is 
precisely all this which he imagines in the case of the 


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Galaxy. Admitting the thing to be so, we cannot 
help here picturing to ourselves how sad a puzzle the 
why zs 7¢t so must prove to all a friorz philosophers. 

But granting, in the very teeth of analogy and of 
everything else, the non-luminosity of the vast central 
orb, we may still inquire how this orb, so enormous, 
could fail of being rendered visible by the flood of 
light thrown upon it from the one hundred millions 
of glorious suns glaring in all directions about it. 
On the urging of this question, the idea of an actually 
solid central sun appears, in some measure, to have 
been abandoned; and speculation proceeded to assert 
that the systems of the cluster perform their revolu- 
tions merely about an immaterial centre of gravity 
common to all. Here again, then, to suit a purpose, 
analogy is let fall. The planets of our system revolve, 
it is true, about a common centre of gravity; but they 
do this in connection with, and in consequence of, a 
material sun whose mass more than counterbalances 
the rest of the system. 

The mathematical circle is a curve composed of an 
infinity of straight lines. But this idea of the circle — 
an idea which, in view of all ordinary geometry, is 
merely the mathematical, as contra-distinguished from 
the practical, idea—is, in sober fact, the Jractical 
conception which alone we have any right to entertain 
in regard to the majestic circle with which we have to 
deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose our system 
revolving about a point in the centre of the Galaxy. 
Let the most vigorous of human imaginations attempt 
but to take a single step towards the comprehension 
of asweep so ineffable! It would scarcely be para- 
doxical to say that a flash of lightning itself, travelling 
foréver on the circumference of this unutterable circle, 

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would still, forever, be travelling in a straight line. 
That the path of our Sun in such an orbit would, to 
any human perception, deviate in the slightest degree 
from a straight line, even in a million of years, is a 
proposition not to be entertained; yet we are required 
to believe that a curvature has become apparent 
during the brief period of our astronomical history — 
during the mere point — during the utter nothingness 
of two or three thousand years. 

It may be said that Madler as really ascertained 
a curvature in the direction of our system’s now well- 
established progress through Space. Admitting, if 
necessary, this fact to be in reality such, I maintain 
that nothing is thereby shown except the reality of 
this fact — the fact of a curvature. For its thorough 
determination, ages will be required; and, when deter- 
mined, it will be found indicative of some binary or 
other multiple relation between our Sun and some one 
or more of the proximate stars. I hazard nothing, 
however, in predicting that, after the lapse of many 
centuries, all efforts at determining the path of our 
Sun through Space will be abandoned as fruitless. 
This is easily conceivable when we look at the infinity 
of perturbation it must experience from its perpetually- 
shifting relations with other orbs, in the common 
approach of all to the nucleus of the Galaxy. 

But in examining other “ nebulz ” than that of the 
Milky Way —Zin surveying, generally, the clusters 
which overspread the heavens —do we or do we not 
find confirmation of Madler’s hypothesis? We do 
mot. The forms of the clusters are exceedingly di- 
verse when casually viewed; but on close inspection, 
through powerful telescopes, we recognize the sphere, 
very distinctly, as at least the proximate form of all; 


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their constitution, in general, being at variance with 
the idea of revolution about a common centre. 

“Tt is difficult,” says Sir John Herschel, “to form 
any conception of the dynamical state of such sys- 
tems. On one hand, without a rotary motion and a 
centrifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard 
them as in a state of progressive collapse. On the 
other, granting such a motion and such a force, we 
find it no less difficult to reconcile their forms with 
the rotation of the whole system [meaning cluster] 
around any single axis, without which internal colli- 
sion would appear to be inevitable.” 

Some remarks lately made about the “ nebule ” by 
Dr. Nichol, in taking quite a different view of the 
cosmical conditions from any taken in this Discourse, 
have a very peculiar applicability to the point now at 
issue. He says : — 

‘¢ When our greatest telescopes are brought to bear 
upon them, we find that those which were thought to 
be irregular are not so; they approach nearer to a 
globe. Here is one that looked oval; but Lord 
Rosse’s telescope brought it into a circle... . Now, 
there occurs a very remarkable circumstance in refer- 
ence to these comparatively sweeping circular masses 
of nebula. We find they are not entirely circular, 
but the reverse; and that all around them, on every 
side, there are volumes of stars, stretching out appar- 
ently as if they were rushing towards a great central 
mass in consequence of the action of some great 
power.” } 

Were I to describe, in my own words, what must 


1 I must be understood as denying, esfecially, only the revolu- 
tionary portion of Madler’s hypothesis. Of course, if no great 
central orb exists ow in our cluster, such will exist hereafter. 

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necessarily be the existing condition of each nebula, 
on the hypothesis that all matter is, as I suggest, now 
returning to its original Unity, I should simply be 
going over, nearly verbatim, the language here em- 
ployed by Dr. Nichol, without the faintest suspicion 
of that stupendous truth which is the key to these 
nebular phenomena. 

And here let me fortify my position still farther, by 
the voice of a greater than Madler; of one, moreover, 
to whom all the data of Madler have long been 
familiar things, carefully and thoroughly considered. 
Referring to the elaborate calculations of Argelander 
—the very researches which form Maéadler’s basis 
— Humboldt, whose generalizing powers have never, 
perhaps, been equalled, has the following observa- 
tion : — 

“ When we regard the real, proper, or non-perspec- 
tive motions of the stars, we find many groups of 
them moving in opposite directions ; and the data as 
yet in hand render it not necessary, at least, to con- 
ceive that the systems composing the Milky Way, or 
the clusters, generally, composing the Universe, are 
revolving about any particular centre unknown, 
whether luminous or non-luminous. It is but Man’s 
longing for a fundamental First Cause, that impels 
both his intellect and fancy to the adoption of such 
an hypothesis.” 1 


Whenever existing, it will be merely the mzcleus of the 
consolidation. 

1 Betrachtet man die nicht perspectivischen eigenen Bewegungen 
der Sterne, so scheinen viele gruppenweise in ihrer Richtung 
entgegengesetzt ; und die bisher gesammelten Thatsachen machen 
es auf’s wenigste nicht nothwendig anzunehmen, dass alle Theile 
unserer Sternenschicht oder gar der gesammten Sterneninseln, 

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The phenomenon here alluded to — that of “ many 
groups moving in opposite directions” —is quite in- 
explicable by Madler’s idea; but arises, asa necessary 
consequence, from that which forms the basis of this 
Discourse. While the merely general direction of each 
atom — of each moon, planet, star, or cluster — would, 
on my hypothesis, be, of course, absolutely rectilinear, 
while the general path of all bodies would be a right 
line leading to the centre of all; it is clear, neverthe- 
less, that this general rectilinearity would be com- 
pounded of what, with scarcely any exaggeration, we 
may term an infinity of particular curves — an infinity 
of local deviations from rectilinearity — the result of 
continuous differences of relative position among the 
multitudinous masses, as each proceeds on its own 
proper journey to the End. 

I quoted, just now, from Sir John Herschel, the fol- 
lowing words, used in reference to the clusters: — 
“On one hand, without a rotary motion and a cen- 
trifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard them 
as in a state of progressive collapse.” The fact is, 
that, in surveying the “nebulze” with a telescope of 
high power, we shall find it quite impossible, having 
once conceived this idea of “ collapse,” not to gather, 
at all points, corroboration of the idea. A nucleus 
is always apparent, in the direction of which the stars 
seem to be precipitating themselves; nor can these 
nuclei be mistaken for merely perspective phenomena ; 
the clusters are vea//y denser near the centre —sparser 


welche den Weltraum fiillen, sich um einen grossen, unbekannten, 
leuchtenden oder dunkeln Centralkorper bewegen. Das Streben 
nach den letzten und héchsten Grundursachen macht freilich die 
reflectirende Thatigkeit des Menschen, wie seine Phantasie, zu 
einer solchen Annahme geneigt. 

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in the regions more remote from it. In a word, we see 
everything as we should see it were a collapse taking 
place; but, in general, it may be said of these clusters 
that we can fairly entertain, while looking at them, the 
idea of orbitual movement about a centre, only by 
admitting the fosszble existence, in the distant do- 
mains of space, of dynamical laws with which we are 
unacquainted. 

On the part of Herschel, however, there is evi- 
dently a reluctance to regard the nebule as in “a state 
of progressive collapse.” But if facts —if even ap- 
pearances justify the supposition of their being in 
this state, why, it may well be demanded, is he dis- 
inclined to admit it? Simply on account of a preju- 
dice; merely because the supposition is at war with a 
preconceived and utterly baseless notion — that of 
the endlessness, that of the eternal stability of the 
Universe. 

If the propositions of this Discourse are tenable, 
the “state of progressive collapse” is precisely that 
state in which alone we are warranted in considering 
All Things ; and, with due humility, let me here con- 
fess that, for my part, I am at a loss to conceive how 
any other understanding of the existing condition of 
affairs could ever have made its way into the human 
brain. ‘“ The tendency to collapse” and “ the attrac- 
tion of gravitation” are convertible phrases. In using 
either, we speak of the reaction of the First Act. 
Never was necessity less obvious than that of suppos- 
ing Matter imbued with an ineradicable gualzty form- 
ing part of its material nature —a quality, or instinct, 
forever inseparable from it, and by dint of which in- 
alienable principle every atom is Jerpetually impelled 
to seek its fellow-atom. Never was necessity less 

123 


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obvious than that of entertaining this unphilosophical 
idea. Going boldly behind the vulgar thought, we 
have to conceive, metaphysically, that the gravitating 
principle appertains to Matter Zemforarily ; only while 
diffused ; only while existing as Many instead of as 
One; appertains to it by virtue of its state of radia- 
tion alone ; appertains, in a word, altogether to its 
condition, and not in the slightest degree to zfse/fi. In 
this view, when the radiation shall have returned into 
its source — when the reaction shall be completed — 
the gravitating principle will no longer exist. - And, 
in fact, astronomers, without at any time reaching the 
idea here suggested, seem to have been approximating 
it, in the assertion that “if there were but one body 
in the universe, it would be impossible to understand 
how the principle, Gravity, could obtain; ” that is to 
say, from a consideration of Matter as they find it, 
they reach a conclusion at which I deductively arrive. 
That so pregnant a suggestion as the one quoted 
should have been permitted to remain so long unfruit- 
ful, is, nevertheless, a mystery which I find it difficult 
to fathom. 

It is, perhaps, in no little degree, however, our pro- 
pensity for the continuous, for the analogical —in the 
present case more particularly for the symmetrical — 
which has been leading us astray. And, in fact, the 
sense of the symmetrical is an instinct which may be 
depended on with an almost blindfold reliance. It is 
the poetical essence of the Universe — of the Universe 
which, in the supremeness of its symmetry, is but the 
most sublime of poems. Now, symmetry and con- 
sistency are convertible terms; thus Poetry and Truth 
are one. A thing is consistent in the ratio of its 
truth, true in the ratio of its consistency. A perfect 


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consistency, I repeat, can be nothing but an absolute 
truth. We may take it for granted, then, that Man 
cannot long or widely err, if he suffer himself to be 
guided by his poetical, which I have maintained to be 
his truthful, in being his symmetrical, instinct. He 
must have a care, however, lest, in pursuing too heed- 
lessly the superficial symmetry of forms and motions, 
he leave out of sight the really essential symmetry of 
the principles which determine and control them. 

That the stellar bodies would finally be merged in 
one — that, at last, all would be drawn into the sub- 
stance of ome stupendous central orb already existing 
—is an idea which, for some time past, seems, vaguely 
and indeterminately, to have held possession of the 
fancy of mankind. It is an idea, in fact, which be- 
longs to the class of the excessively obvious. It springs, 
instantly, from a superficial observation of the cyclic 
and seemingly gyrating or vortical movements of 
those individual portions of the Universe which come 
most immediately and most closely under our obser- 
vation. There is not, perhaps, a human being, of 
ordinary education and of average reflective capacity, 
to whom, at some period, the fancy in question has 
not occurred, as if spontaneously, or intuitively, and 
wearing all the character of a very profound and very 
original conception. This conception, however, so 
commonly entertained, has never, within my knowl- 
edge, arisen out of any abstract considerations. Be- 
ing, on the contrary, always suggested, as I say, by 
the vortical movements about centres, a reason for it, 
also —a cause for the ingathering of all the orbs into 
one, zmagined to be already existing — was naturally 
sought in the same direction, among these cyclic 
movements themselves. 

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Thus it happened that, on announcement of the 
gradual and perfectly regular decrease observed in 
the orbit of Encke’s comet, at every successive revolu- 
tion about our Sun, astronomers were nearly unani- 
mous in the opinion that the cause in question was 
found; that a principle was discovered sufficient to 
account, physically, for that final, universal agglomera- 
tion which, I repeat, the analogical, symmetrical, or 
poetical instinct of man had pre-determined to under- 
stand as something more than a simple hypothesis. 

This cause, this sufficient reason for the final in- 
gathering, was declared to exist in an exceedingly 
rare but still material medium pervading space; which 
medium, by retarding, in some degree, the progress of 
the comet, perpetually weakened its tangential force: 
thus giving a predominance to the centripetal; which, 
of course, drew the comet nearer and nearer at each 
revolution, and would eventually precipitate it upon 
the Sun, 

All this was strictly logical — admitting the medium 
or ether; but this ether was assumed, most illogically, 
on the ground that no offer mode than the one men- 
tioned could be discovered, of accounting for the ob- 
served decrease in the orbit of the comet, as if from 
the fact that we could azscover no other mode of 
accounting for it, it followed, in any respect, that no 
other mode of accounting for it existed. It is clear that 
innumerable causes might operate, in combination, to 
diminish the orbit, without even a possibility of our 
ever becoming acquainted with even one of them. In 
the mean time, it has never been fairly shown, perhaps, 
why the retardation occasioned by the skirts of the 
Sun’s atmosphere, through which the comet passes at 
perihelion, is not enough to account for the phenome- 

126 


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non. That Encke’s comet will be absorbed into the 
Sun, is probable; that all the comets of the system will 
be absorbed, is more than merely possible ; but, in such 
case, the principle of absorption must be referred to 
eccentricity of orbit —to the close approximation to 
the Sun, of the comets at their perihelia; and is a 
principle not affecting, in any degree, the ponderous 
spheres, which are to be regarded as the true material 
constituents of the Universe. Touching comets in 
general, let me here suggest, in passing, that we can- 
not be far wrong in looking upon them as the /zght- 
ning-flashes of the cosmical Heaven. 

The idea of a retarding ether, and, through it, of a 
final agglomeration of all things, seemed at one time, 
however, to be confirmed by the observation of a posi- 
tive decrease in the orbit of the solid Moon. By ref- 
erence to eclipses recorded twenty-five hundred years 
ago, it was found that the velocity of the satellite’s 
revolution zhex was considerably less than it is xow ; 
_ that on the hypothesis that its motion in its orbit 
is uniformly in accordance with Kepler’s law, and 
was accurately determined fhex — twenty-five hun- 
dred years ago— it is now in advance of the posi- 
tion it should occupy, by nearly nine thousand miles. 
The increase of velocity proved, of course, a diminu- 
tion of orbit; and astronomers were fast yielding to a 
belief in an ether, as the sole mode of accounting for 
the phenomenon, when Lagrange came to the rescue. 
He showed that, owing to the configurations of the 
spheroids, the shorter axes of their ellipses are subject 
to variation in length; the longer axes being perma- 
nent; and that this variation is continuous and vibra- 
tory — so that every orbit is in a state of transition, 
either from circle to ellipse, or from ellipse to circle. 

127 


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In the case of the Moon, where the shorter axis is de- 
creasing, the orbit is passing from circle to ellipse, 
and, consequently, is decreasing too; but, after a long 
series of ages, the ultimate eccentricity will be at- 
tained; then the shorter axis will proceed to zzcrease, 
until the orbit becomes a circle; when the process of 
shortening will again take place ; — and so on forever. 
In the case of the Earth, the orbit is passing from 
ellipse to circle. The facts thus demonstrated do 
away, of course, with all necessity for supposing an 
ether, and with all apprehension of the system’s insta- 
bility — on the ether’s account. 

It will be remembered that I have myself assumed 
what we may term az ether. I have spoken ofa subtle 
influence which we know to be ever in attendance on 
matter, although becoming manifest only through 
matter’s heterogeneity. To this zzffwence — without 
daring to touch it at all in any effort at explaining its 
awful xature —I have referred the various phenom- 
ena of electricity, heat, light, magnetism; and more 
— of vitality, consciousness, and thought —in a word, 
of spirituality. It will be seen, at once, then, that the 
ether thus conceived is radically distinct from the 
ether of the astronomers; inasmuch as theirs is mat- 
tery and mine xot. 

With the idea of material ether, seems, thus, to 
have departed altogether the thought of that universal 
agglomeration so long predetermined by the poetical 
fancy of mankind; an agglomeration in which a sound 
Philosophy might have been warranted in putting 
faith, at least to a certain extent, if for no other 
reason than that by this poetical fancy it Aad been 
so predetermined. But so far as Astronomy, so far 
as mere Physics, have yet spoken, the cycles of the 

128 


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Universe are perpetual — the Universe has no conceiv- 
able end. Had an end been demonstrated, however, 
from so purely collateral a cause as an ether, Man’s 
instinct of the Divine capacity to adapt would have 
rebelled against the demonstration. We should have 
been forced to regard the Universe with some such 
sense of dissatisfaction as we experience in contem- 
plating an unnecessarily complex work of human art. 
Creation would have affected us as an imperfect plot 
in a romance, where the déxotlment is awkwardly 
brought about by interposed incidents external and 
foreign to the main subject; instead of springing out 
of the bosom of the thesis — out of the heart of the 
ruling idea — instead of arising as a result of the pri- 
mary proposition, as inseparable and inevitable part and 
parcel of the fundamental conception of the book. 
What I mean by the symmetry of mere surface will 
now be more clearly understood. It is simply by the 
blandishment of this symmetry that we have been 
beguiled into the general idea of which Madler’s 
hypothesis is but a part—the idea of the vortical 
indrawing of the orbs. Dismissing this nakedly 
physical conception, the symmetry of Drznciple sees 
the end of all things metaphysically involved in the 
thought of a beginning; seeks and finds, in this origin 
of all things, the rwdiment of this end; and perceives 
the impiety of supposing this end likely to be brought 
about less simply, less directly, less obviously, less artis- 
tically than through ¢he reaction of the originating Act. 
Recurring, then, to a previous suggestion, let us 
understand the systems—let us understand each 
star, with its attendant planets—as but a Titanic 
atom existing in space with precisely the same in- 
clination for Unity which characterized, in the begin- 
VOL. IX. — 9 129 


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ning, the actual atoms after their radiation throughout 
the Universal sphere. As these original atoms rushed 
towards each other in generally straight lines, so let 
us conceive as at least generally rectilinear the paths 
of the system-atoms towards their respective centres 
of aggregation; and in this direct drawing together of 
the systems into clusters, with a similar and simulta- 
neous drawing together of the clusters themselves 
while undergoing consolidation, we have at length 
attained the great Vow—the awful Present —the 
Existing Condition of the Universe. 

Of the still more awful Future a not irrational anal- 
ogy may guide us in framing an hypothesis. The 
equilibrium between the centripetal and centrifugal 
forces of each system, being necessarily destroyed on 
attainment of a certain proximity to the nucleus of 
the cluster to which it belongs, there must occur, at 
once, a chaotic or seemingly chaotic precipitation, 
of the moons upon the planets, of the planets upon 
the suns, and of the suns upon the nuclei; and the 
general result of this precipitation must be the gather- 
ing of the myriad now-existing stars of the firmament 
into an almost infinitely less number of almost infi- 
nitely superior spheres. In being immeasurably fewer, 
the worlds of that day will be immeasurably greater than 
our own. Then, indeed, amid unfathomable abysses, 
will be glaring unimaginable suns. But all this will be 
merely a climateric magnificence foreboding the great 
End. Of this End the new genesis described can be 
but a very partial postponement. While undergoing 
consolidation, the clusters themselves, with a speed 
prodigiously accumulative, have been rushing towards 
their own general centre —and now, with a million- 
fold electric velocity, commensurate only with their 

130 


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material grandeur and with their spiritual passion for 
oneness, the majestic remnants of the tribe of Stars 
flash, at length, intoa commonembrace. The inevita- 
ble catastrophe is at hand. 

But this catastrophe — what is it? We have seen 
accomplished the ingathering of the orbs. Hence- 
forward, are we not to understand one material globe 
of globes as comprehending and constituting the Uni- 
verse? Such a fancy would be altogether at war 
with every assumption and consideration of this 
Discourse. 

I have already alluded to that absolute reciprocity 
of adaptation which is the idiosyncrasy of the Divine 
Art — stamping it divine. Up to this point of our re- 
flections, we have been regarding the electrical influ- 
ence as a something by dint of whose repulsion alone 
Matter is enabled to exist in that state of diffusion 
demanded for the fulfilment of its purposes; so far, in 
a word, we have been considering the influence in 
question as ordained for Matter’s sake to subserve 
the objects of Matter. With a perfectly legitimate 
reciprocity, we are now permitted to look at Matter, 
as created solely for the sake of this influence — solely 
to serve the objects of this spiritual Ether. Through 
the aid, by the means, through the agency, of Matter, 
and by dint of its heterogeneity, is this Ether mani- 
fested —is Spirit individualized. It is merely in 
the development of this Ether, through heterogeneity, 
that particular masses of Matter become animate — 
sensitive —and in the ratio of their heterogeneity; 
some reaching a degree of sensitiveness involving 
what we call Thought, and thus attaining obviously 
Conscious Intelligence. 

In this view, we are enabled to perceive Matter as a 


131 


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Means, not as an End. Its purposes are thus seen to 
have been comprehended in its diffusion; and with 
the return into Unity these purposes cease. The 
absolutely consolidated globe of globes would be 
objectless ; therefore not for a moment could it con- 
tinue to exist. Matter, created for an end, would 
unquestionably, on fulfilment of that end, be Matter 
no longer. Let us endeavor to understand that it 
would disappear, and that God would remain all in all. 

That every work of Divine conception must coexist 
and coexpire with its particular design, seems to me 
especially obvious; and I make no doubt that, on 
perceiving the final globe of globes to be odjectless, 
the majority of my readers will be satisfied with my 
“therefore it cannot continue to exist.” Neverthe- 
less, as the startling thought of its instantaneous dis- 
appearance is one which the most powerful intellect 
cannot be expected readily to entertain on grounds so 
decidedly abstract, let us endeavor to look at the idea 
from some other and more ordinary point of view; 
let us see how thoroughly and beautifully it is corrobo- 
rated in an a fosteriort consideration of Matter as 
we actually find it. 

I have before said that “ Attraction and Repulsion 
being undeniably the sole properties by which Matter 
is manifested to Mind, we are justified in assuming 
that Matter exzs¢s only as Attraction and Repulsion ; 
in other words, that Attraction and Repulsion ave 
Matter; there being no conceivable case in which 
we may not employ the term ‘ Matter’ and the terms 
‘Attraction’ and ‘Repulsion’ taken together, as 
equivalent, and therefore convertible, expressions of 
Logic.” 4 

1 Page 34. 
132 


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Now the very definition of Attraction implies par- 
ticularity —the existence of parts, particles, or atoms; 
for we define it as the tendency of “ each atom, etc., to 
every other atom,” etc., according to a certain law. 
Of course where there are vo parts, where there is 
absolute Unity, where the tendency to oneness is 
satisfied, there can be no Attraction ; — this has been 
fully shown, and all Philosophy admits it. When, on 
fulfilment of its purposes, then, Matter shall have 
returned into its original condition of Oze—a condi- 
tion which presupposes the expulsion of the separative 
Ether, whose province and whose capacity are limited 
to keeping the atoms apart until that great day when, 
this Ether being no longer needed, the overwhelming 
pressure of the finally collective Attraction shall at 
length just sufficiently predominate! and expel it — 
when, I say, Matter, finally, expelling the Ether, shall 
have returned into absolute Unity, it will then (to 
speak paradoxically for the moment) be Matter with- 
out Attraction and without Repulsion — in other words, 
Matter without Matter — in other words, again, J/atter 
no more. In sinking into Unity, it will sink at once 
into that Nothingness which, to all finite perception, 
Unity must be; into that Material Nihility from 
which alone we can conceive it to have been evoked, 
to have been created, by the Volition of God. 

I repeat, then— Let us endeavor to comprehend 
that the final globe of globes will instantaneously 
disappear, and that God will remain all in all. 

But are we here to pause? Not so. On the Uni- 
versal agglomeration and dissolution, we can readily 
conceive that a new and perhaps totally different 


1 ‘¢ Gravity, therefore, must be the strongest of forces.’?— See 
page 55- 
133 


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series of conditions may ensue; another creation and 
radiation, returning into itself; another action and 
reaction of the Divine Will. Guiding our imagina- 
tions by that omniprevalent law of laws, the law of 
periodicity, are we not, indeed, more than justified in 
entertaining a belief —let us say, rather, in indulging 
a hope — that the processes we have here ventured to 
contemplate will be renewed forever, and forever, and 
forever ; a novel Universe swelling into existence, and 
then subsiding into nothingness, at every throb of the 
Heart Divine? 

And now —this Heart Divine— what is it? J¢zs 
our own. 

Let not the merely seeming irreverence of this idea 
frighten our souls from that cool exercise of conscious- 
ness, from that deep tranquillity of self-inspection, 
through which alone we can hope to attain the pres- 
ence of this, the most sublime of truths, and look it 
leisurely in the face. 

The phenomena on which our conclusions must at 
this point depend are merely spiritual shadows, but 
not the less thoroughly substantial. 

We walk about, amid the destinies of our world- 
existence, encompassed by dim but ever present 
Memories of a Destiny more vast—very distant in 
the bygone time, and infinitely awful. 

We live out a Youth peculiarly haunted by such 
shadows; yet never mistaking them for dreams. As 
Memories we £uow them. During our Youth the 
distinction is too clear to deceive us even for a 
moment. 

So long as this Youth endures, the feeling shat we 
exist is the most natural of all feelings. We under- 
stand it thoroughly. That there was a period at 


134 


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which we did zot exist—or, that it might so have 
happened that we never had existed at all—are the 
considerations, indeed, which, during this Youth, we 
find difficulty in understanding. Why we should ot 
exist, is, wp to the epoch of our Manhood, of all queries 
the most unanswerable. Existence —self-existence — 
existence from all Time and to all Eternity — seems, 
up to the epoch of Manhood, a normal and unques- 
tionable condition ; — seems, because tt ts. 

But now comes the period at which a conventional 
World-Reason awakens us from the truth of our dream. 
Doubt, Surprise, and Incomprehensibility arrive at 
the same moment. They say: “ You live, and the 
time was when you lived not. You have been created. 
An Intelligence exists greater than your own; and it 
is only through this Intelligence you live at all.” 
These things we struggle to comprehend and cannot ; — 
cannot, because these things, being untrue, are thus, of 
necessity, incomprehensible. 

No thinking being lives who, at some ramene 
point of his life of thought, has not felt himself 
lost amid the surges of futile efforts at understanding 
or believing that anything exists greater than his own 
soul. The utter impossibility of any one’s soul feel- 
ing itself inferior to another; the intense, overwhelm- 
ing dissatisfaction and rebellion at the thought; these, 
with the omniprevalent aspirations at perfection, are 
but the spiritual, coincident with the material, strug- 
gles towards the original Unity; are, to my mind at 
least, a species of proof far surpassing what Man 
terms demonstration, that no one soul zs inferior to 
another; that nothing is, or can be, superior to any 
one soul; that each soul is, in part, its own God — its 


135 


EUREKA 


own Creator;—in a word, that God —the material 
and spiritual God — zow exists solely in the diffused 
Matter and Spirit of the Universe; and that the re- 
gathering of this diffused Matter and Spirit will be 
but the re-constitution of the purely Spiritual and 
Individual God. 

In this view, and in this view alone, we compre- 
hend the riddles of Divine Injustice —of Inexorable 
Fate. In this view alone the existence of Evil be- 
comes intelligible; but in this view it becomes more 
— it becomes endurable. Our souls no longer rebel 
at a Sorrow which we ourselves have imposed upon 
ourselves, in furtherance of our own purposes — with 
a view, if even with a futile view — to the extension 
of our own Foy. 

I have spoken of Memories that haunt us during 
our Youth. They sometimes pursue us even into 
our Manhood; assume gradually less and less in- 
definite shapes; now and then speak to us with low 
voices, saying : — 

“There was an epoch in the Night of Time, when 
a still-existent Being existed, one of an absolutely 
infinite number of similar Beings that people the ab- 
solutely infinite domains of the absolutely infinite 
space.4 It was not and is not in the power of this 
Being, any more than it is in your own, to extend, by 
actual increase, the joy of His Existence; but, just as 
it zs in your power to expand or to concentrate your | 
pleasures (the absolute amount of happiness remain- 
ing always the same), so did and does a similar capa- 


1 See pages 97, 98, paragraph commencing, “I reply that the 
right,’? and ending ‘‘ proper and particular God.” 


136 


EUREKA 


bility appertain to this Divine Being, who thus passes 
His Eternity in perpetual variation of Concentrated 
Self and almost Infinite Self-Diffusion. What you 
call the Universe of Stars is but His present expan- 
Sive existence. He now feels His life through an 
infinity of imperfect pleasures; the partial and pain- 
intertangled pleasures of those inconceivably numer- 
ous things which you designate as His creatures, but 
which are really but infinite individualizations of Him- 
self. All these creatures —a//— those whom you 
term animate, as well as those to which you deny 
life for no better reason than that you do not behold 
it in operation —a@// these creatures have, in a greater 
or less degree, a capacity for pleasure and for pain; du 
the general sum of their sensations ts precisely that 
amount of Happiness which appertains by right to the 
Divine Being when concentrated within Himself. 
These creatures are all, too, more or less, and more 
or less obviously, conscious Intelligences ; conscious, 
first, of a proper identity; conscious, secondly, and 
by faint indeterminate glimpses, of an identity with 
the Divine Being of whom we speak — of an identity 
with God. Of the two classes of consciousness, fancy 
that the former will grow weaker, the latter stronger, 
during the long succession of ages which must elapse 
before these myriads of individual Intelligences be- 
come blended — when the bright stars become blended 
—into One. Think that the sense of individual 
identity will be gradually merged in the general 
consciousness; that Man, for example, ceasing imper- 
ceptibly to feel himself Man, will at length attain that 
awfully triumphant epoch when he shall recognize his 
existenceas that of Jehovah. In the mean time bear 


137 


EUREKA 


in mind that all is Life— Life — Life within Life — 
the less within the greater, and all within the Spzrc¢ 
Divine.” }. 


' The pain of the consideration that we shall lose our individual 
identity ceases at once when we further reflect that the process, 
as above described, is neither more nor less than the absorption 
by each individual intelligence of all other intelligences (that is, 
of the Universe) into its own. That God may be all in all, each 
must become God. 


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Cea Jen aa hs oats ink tet Thbe cet . 
, ive aap eat  govlower saorve: ee 


pitelyersy at Via aed ea <a be Ea 


ed mechanical genius, of creat pene 4 
band | discriminative “onderstandipg,’ who | aa 
fiple. in profglincing, the Automaton a ne aR, 
hin } thccnncrted with human agency in its:/) [yaaa 
vents carte beyond all comparisen, si tee See 
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i saidubradiy be. were 8 Ley gee Bess 
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i compate with the Cropesne ay ee 

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TOUAM AHT 


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MISCELLANIES 





MAELZEL’S CHESS—-PLAYER 


Peruaps no exhibition of the kind has ever 
elicited so general attention as the Chess-Player of 
Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been an object of in- 
tense curiosity to all persons who think. Yet the 
question of its modus operand: is still undetermined. 
Nothing has been written on this topic which can be 
considered as decisive, and accordingly we find every- 
where men of mechanical genius, of great general 
acuteness, and discriminative understanding, who 
make no scruple in pronouncing the Automaton a 
pure machine, unconnected with human agency in its 
movements, and consequently, beyond all comparison, 
the most astonishing of the inventions of mankind. 
And such it would undoubtedly be, were they right in 
their supposition. Assuming this hypothesis, it would 
be grossly absurd to compare with the Chess-Player 
any similar thing of either modern or ancient days. 
Yet there have been many and wonderful automata. 
In Brewster’s “ Letters on Natural Magic,” we have 
an account of the most remarkable. Among these 
may be mentioned, as having beyond doubt existed, 
firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for the 
amusement of Louis XIV. when a child. A table, 


I4I 


MISCELLANIES 


about four feet square, was introduced into the room 
appropriated for the exhibition. Upon this table was 
placed a carriage six inches in length, made of wood, 
and drawn by two horses of the same material. One 
window being down, a lady was seen on the back seat. 
A coachman held the reins on the box, and a footman 
and page were in their places behind. M. Camus 
now touched a spring; whereupon the coachman 
smacked his whip, and the horses proceeded in a 
natural manner along the edge of the table, drawing 
after them the carriage. Having gone as far as possi- 
ble in this direction, a sudden turn was made to the 
left, and the vehicle was driven at right angles to its 
former course, and still closely along the edge of the 
table. In this way the coach proceeded until it ar- 
rived opposite the chair of the young prince. It then 
stopped, the page descended and opened the door, 
the lady alighted, and presented a petition to her sov- 
ereign. She then re-entered. The page put up the 
steps, closed the door, and resumed his station. The 
coachman whipped his horses, and the carriage was 
driven back to its original position. 

The magician of M. Maillardet is also worthy of 
notice. We copy the following account of it from 
the “ Letters ’’ before mentioned of Dr. Brewster, who 
derived his information principally from the “ Edin- 
burgh Encyclopedia,” — 


“ One of the most popular pieces of mechanism, which 
we have seen, is the Magician constructed by M. Maillar- 
det, for the purpose of answering certain given ques- 
tions. A figure, dressed like a magician, appears seated 
at the bottom of a wall, holding a wand in one hand, and 
a book in the other. A number of questions, ready pre- 
pared, are inscribed on oval medallions, and the spectator 

142 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


takes any of these he chooses, and to which he wishes an 
answer, and, having placed it in a drawer ready to receive 
it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the answer is re- 
turned. The magician then arises from his seat, bows his 
head, describes circles with his wand, and, consulting the 
book as if in deep thought, he lifts it towards his face. 
Having thus appeared to ponder over the proposed ques- 
tion, he raises his wand, and striking with it the wall above 
his head, two folding-doors fly open, and display an appro- 
priate answer to the question. The doors again close, the 
magician resumes his original position, and the drawer 
opens to return the medallion. There are twenty of these 
medallions, all containing different questions, to which the 
magician returns the most suitable and striking answers. 
The medallions are thin plates of brass, of an elliptical 
form, exactly resembling each other. Some of the medal- 
lions have a question inscribed on each side, both of which 
the magician answers in succession. If the drawer is shut 
without a medallion being put into it, the magician rises, 
consults his book, shakes his head, and resumes his seat. 
The folding-doors remain shut, and the drawer is returned 
empty. If two medallions are put into the drawer to- 
gether, an answer is returned only to the lower one. When 
the machinery is wound up, the movements continue about 
an hour, during which time about fifty questions may be 
answered. The inventor stated that the means by which 
the different medallions acted upon the machinery, so as 
to produce the proper answers to the questions which they 
contained, were extremely simple.” 


The duck of Vaucanson was still more remarkable. 
It was of the size of life, and so perfect an imitation 
of the living animal that all the spectators were de- 
ceived. It executed, says Brewster, all the natural 
movements and gestures, it ate and drank with avid- 
ity, performed all the quick motions of the head and 
throat which are peculiar to the duck, and like it 


143 


MISCELLANIES 


muddled the water which it drank with its bill. It 
produced also the sound of quacking in the most 
natural manner. In the anatomical structure the 
artist exhibited the highest skill. Every bone in the 
real-duck had its representative in the automaton, and 
its wings were anatomically exact. Every cavity, 
apophysis, and curvature was imitated, and each bone 
executed its proper movements. When corn was 
thrown down before it, the duck stretched out its neck 
to pick it up, swallowed, and digested it.2 

But if these machines were ingenious, what shall we 
think of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage? 
What shall we think of an engine of wood and metal 
which can not only compute astronomical and navi- 
gation tables to any given extent, but render the 
exactitude of its operations mathematically certain 
through its power of correcting its possible errors? 
What shall we think of a machine which can not only 
accomplish all this, but actually print off its elaborate 
results, when obtained, without the slightest interven- 
tion of the intellect of man? It will, perhaps, be 
said, in reply, that a machine such as we have 
described is altogether above comparison with the 
Chess-Player of Maelzel. By no means; it is alto- 
gether beneath it; that is to say, provided we assume 
(what should never for a moment be assumed) that 
the Chess-Player is a ure machine, and performs its 
operations without any immediate human agency. 
Arithmetical or algebraical calculations are, from 
their very nature, fixed and determinate. Certain 
data being given, certain results necessarily and in- 


1 Under the head Axdroides in the ‘Edinburgh Encyclo- 
pedia”’ may be found a full account of the principal automata of 
ancient and modern times. 


144 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


evitably follow. These results have dependence upon 
nothing, and are influenced by nothing but the data 
originally given. And the question to be solved pro- 
ceeds, or should proceed, to its final determination, 
by a succession of unerring steps liable to no change 
and subject to no modification. This being the case, 
we can without difficulty conceive the Josszbzlzty of so 
arranging a piece of mechanism that, upon starting it 
in accordance with the data of the question to be 
solved, it should continue its movements regularly, 
progressively, and undeviatingly, towards the re- 
quired solution, since these movements, however com- 
plex, are never imagined to be otherwise than finite 
and determinate. But the case is widely different 
with the Chess-Player. With him there is no deter- 
minate progression. No one move in chess neces- 
sarily follows upon any one other. From no particular 
disposition of the men at one period of a game can we 
predicate their disposition at a different period. Let 
us place the first move ina game of chess in juxta- 
position with the data of an algebraical question, and 
their great difference will be immediately perceived. 
From the latter — from the data — the second step of 
the question, dependent thereupon, inevitably follows. 
It is modelled by the data. It must be thus and not 
otherwise. But from the first move in the game of 
chess no especial second move follows of necessity. 
In the algebraical question, as it proceeds towards 
solution, the certainty of its operations remains alto- 
gether unimpaired. The second step having been a 
consequence of the data, the third step is equally a 
consequence of the second, the fourth of the third, 
the fifth of the fourth, and so on, and not possibly 
otherwise, to the end. But in proportion to the pro- 
VOL. IX, — 10 145 


MISCELLANIES 


gress made in a game of chess, is the uncertainty of 
each ensuing move. A few moves having been made, 
no step is certain. Different spectators of the game 
would advise different moves. All is then dependent 
upon the variable judgment of the players. Now 
even granting (what should not be granted) that the 
movements of the Automaton Chess-Player were in 
themselves determinate, they would be necessarily 
interrupted and disarranged by the indeterminate 
will of his antagonist. There is then no analogy 
whatever between the operations of the Chess-Player 
and those of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage, 
and if we choose to call the former a pure machine 
we must be prepared to admit that it is, beyond all 
comparison, the most wonderful of the inventions of 
mankind. Its original projector, however, Baron 
Kempelen, had no scruple in declaring it to be a 
“very ordinary piece of mechanism—a bagatelle 
whose effects appeared so marvellous only from the 
boldness of the conception, and the fortunate choice 
of the methods adopted for promoting the illusion.” 
But it is needless to dwell upon this point. It is quite 
certain that the operations of the Automaton are reg- 
ulated by mzzd, and by nothing else. Indeed, this 
matter is susceptible of a mathematical demonstra- 
tion, a friort. The only question then is of the 
manner in which human agency is brought to bear. 
Before entering upon this subject it would be as well 
to give a brief history and description of the Chess- 
Player for the benefit of such of our readers as may 
never have had an opportunity of witnessing Mr. 
Maelzel’s exhibition. 

The Automaton Chess-Player was invented in 17609, 
by Baron Kempelen, a nobleman of Presburg, in 

146 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it, together with 
the secret of its operations, to its present possessor. 
Soon after its completion it was exhibited in Pres- 
burg, Paris, Vienna, and other continental cities. 
In 1783 and 1784, it was taken to London by Mr. 
Maelzel. Of late years it has visited the principal 






towns in the United States. Wherever seen, the 
most intense curiosity was excited by its appearance, 
and numerous have been the attempts, by men of all 
classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions. The 
cut above gives a tolerable representation of the 
figure as seen by the citizens of Richmond a few 
weeks ago. The right arm, however, should lie more 
at length upon the box, a chess-board should appear 
upon it, and the cushion should not be seen while the 
pipe is held. Some immaterial alterations have been 
made in the costume of the player since it came into 
the possession of Maelzel; the plume, for example, 
was not originally worn. 

At the hour appointed for exhibition, a curtain is 
withdrawn, or folding-doors are thrown open, and the 
machine rolled to within about twelve feet of the 
nearest of the spectators, between whom and it (the 
machine) a rope is stretched. A figure is seen 
habited as a Turk, and seated, with its legs crossed, 
at a large box apparently of maple wood, which serves 

147 


MISCELLANIES 


it as a table. The exhibiter will, if requested, roll 
the machine to any portion of the room, suffer it to 
remain altogether on any designated spot, or even shift 
its location repeatedly during the progress of a game. 
The bottom of the box is elevated considerably above 
the floor by means of the castors or brazen rollers on 
which it moves, a clear view of the surface imme- 
diately beneath the Automaton being thus afforded 
to the spectators. The chair on which the figure sits 
is affixed permanently to the box. On the top of this 
latter is a chess-board, also permanently affixed. The 
right arm of the Chess-Player is extended at full 
length before him, at right angles with his body, and 
lying, in an apparently careless position, by the side 
of the board. The back of the hand is upwards. 
The board itself is eighteen inches square. The 
left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, and in 
the left hand is a pipe. A green drapery conceals 
the back of the Turk, and falls partially over the 
front of both shoulders. To judge from the external 
appearance of the box, it is divided into five com- 
partments — three cupboards of equal dimensions, 
and two drawers occupying that portion of the chest 
lying beneath the cupboards. The foregoing obser- 
vations apply to the appearance of the Automaton 
upon its first introduction into the presence of the 
spectators. 

Maelzel now informs the company that he will 
disclose to their view the mechanism of the machine. 
Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he unlocks 
with one of them door marked 1 in the cut above, 
and throws the cupboard fully open to the inspection 
of all present. Its whole interior is apparently filled 
with wheels, pinions, levers, and other machinery, 

148 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


crowded very closely together, so that the eye can 
penetrate but a little distance into the mass. Leay- 
ing this door open to its full extent, he goes now 
round to the back of the box, and raising the drapery 
of the figure, opens another door situated precisely in 
the rear of the one first opened. Holding a lighted 
candle at this door, and shifting the position of the . 
whole machine repeatedly at the same time, a bright 
light is thrown entirely through the cupboard, which 
is now clearly seen to be full, completely full, of 
machinery. The spectators being satisfied of this 
fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it, takes the 
key from the lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, 
and comes round to the front. The door marked 1, 
it will be remembered, is still open. The exhibiter 
now proceeds to open the drawer which lies beneath 
the cupboards at the bottom of the box — for al- 
though there are apparently two drawers, there is 
really only one — the two handles and two key-holes 
being intended merely for ornament. Having opened 
this drawer to its full extent, a small cushion, and a 
set of chess-men, fixed in a frame-work made to 
support them perpendicularly, are discovered. Leav- 
ing this drawer, as well as cupboard No. 1, open, 
Maelzel now unlocks door No. 2, and door No. 3, 
which are discovered to be folding-doors, opening 
into one and the same compartment. To the right 
of this compartment, however (that is to say, the 
spectators’ right), a small division, six inches wide, 
and filled with machinery, is partitioned off. The 
main compartment itself (in speaking of that portion 
of the box visible upon opening doors 2 and 3, we 
shall always call it the main compartment) is lined 
with dark cloth, and contains no machinery whatever 


149 


MISCELLANIES 


beyond two pieces of steel, quadrant-shaped, and 
situated one in each of the rear top corners of the 
compartment. A small protuberance about eight 
inches square, and also covered with dark cloth, 
lies on the floor of the compartment near the rear 
corner on the spectators’ left hand. Leaving doors 
No. 2 and No. 3 open as well as the drawer, and 
door No. 1, the exhibiter now goes round to the back 
of the main compartment, and, unlocking another 
door there, displays clearly all the interior of the 
main compartment, by introducing a candle behind 
it and within it. The whole box being thus appar- 
ently disclosed to the scrutiny of the company, 
Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, 
rolls the Automaton entirely round, and exposes the 
back of the Turk by lifting up the drapery. A door 
about ten inches square is thrown open in the loins 
of the figure, and a smaller one also in the left thigh. 
The interior of the figure, as seen through these 
apertures, appears to be crowded with machinery. 
In general, every spectator is now thoroughly satis- 
fied of having beheld and completely scrutinized, at 
one and the same time, every individual portion of 
the Automaton, and the idea of any person being 
concealed in the interior, during so complete an 
exhibition of that interior, if ever entertained, is imme- 
diately dismissed as preposterous in the extreme. 
M. Maelzel, having rolled the machine back into . 
its original position, now informs the company that — 
the Automaton will play a game of chess with any 
one disposed to encounter him. This challenge being 
accepted, a small table is prepared for the antagonist, 
and placed close by the rope, but on the spectators’ 
side of it, and so situated as not to prevent the com- 
150 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


pany from obtaining a full view of the Automaton. 
From a drawer in this table is taken a set of chess- 
men, and Maelzel arranges them generally, but not 
always, with his own hands, on the chess-board, 
which consists merely of the usual number of squares 
painted upon the table. The antagonist having taken 
his seat, the exhibiter approaches the drawer of the 
box, and takes therefrom the cushion, which, after 
removing the pipe from the hand of the Automaton, 
he places under its left arm as a support. Then, 
taking also from the drawer the Automaton’s set of 
chess-men, he arranges them upon the chess-board 
before the figure. He now proceeds to close the 
doors and to lock them — leaving the bunch of keys 
in door No. 1. He also closes the drawer, and, 
finally, winds up the machine, by applying a key to 
an aperture in the left end (the spectators’ left) of 
the box. The game now commences — the Autom- 
aton taking the first move. The duration of the 
contest is usually limited to half an hour, but if 
it be not finished at the expiration of this period, 
and the antagonist still contend that he can beat 
the Automaton, M. Maelzel has seldom any objec- 
tion to continue it. Not to weary the company is 
the ostensible, and no doubt the real, object of the 
limitation. It will of course be understood that when 
a move is made at his own table, by the antagonist, 
the corresponding move is made at the box of the 
_Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts as the 
representative of the antagonist. On the other hand, 
when the Turk moves, the corresponding move is 
made at the table of the antagonist, also by M. 
Maelzel, who then acts as the representative of the 
Automaton. In this manner it is necessary that the 
I51 


MISCELLANIES 


exhibiter should often pass from one table to the 
other. He also frequently goes in the rear of the 
figure to remove the chess-men which it has taken, 
and which it deposits, when taken, on the box to 
the left.(to its own left) of the board. When the 
Automaton hesitates in relation to its move, the 
exhibiter is occasionally seen to place himself very 
near its right side, and to lay his hand now and then, 
in a careless manner, upon the box. He has alsoa 
peculiar shuffle with his feet, calculated to induce 
suspicion of collusion with the machine in minds 
which are more cunning than sagacious. These 
peculiarities are, no doubt, mere mannerisms of M. 
Maelzel, or, if he is aware of them at all, he puts them 
in practice with a view of exciting in the specta- 
tors a false idea of the pure mechanism in the 
Automaton. 

The Turk plays with his left hand. All the move- 
ments of the arm are at right angles. In this manner, 
the hand (which is gloved and bent in a natural way), 
being brought directly above the piece to be moved, 
descends finally upon it, the fingers receiving it, in 
most cases, without difficulty. Occasionally, however, 
when the piece is not precisely in its proper situation, 
the Automaton fails in his attempt at seizing it. 
When this occurs, no second effort is made, but the 
arm continues its movement in the direction, originally 
intended, precisely as if the piece were in the fingers. 
Having thus designated the spot whither the move 
should have been made, the arm returns to its cushion, 
and Maelzel performs the evolution which the Autom- 
aton pointed out. At every movement of the figure 
machinery is heard in motion. During the progress 
of the game, the figure now and then rolls its eyes, as 

152 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


if surveying the board, moves its head, and pro- 
nounces the word “ echec”’ (check) when necessary.! If 
a false move be made by his antagonist, he raps 
briskly on the box with the fingers of his right hand, 
shakes his head roughly, and, replacing the piece 
falsely moved, in its former situation, assumes the 
next move himself. Upon beating and winning the 
game, he waves his head with an air of triumph, looks 
around complacently upon the spectators, and, draw- 
ing his left arm farther back than usual, suffers his 
fingers alone to rest upon the cushion. In general, 
the Turk is victorious; once or twice he has been 
beaten. The game being ended, Maelzel will again, 
if desired, exhibit the mechanism of the box, in the 
same manner as before. The machine is then rolled 
back, and a curtain hides it from the view of the 
company. 

There have been many attempts at solving the 
mystery of the Automaton. The most general 
opinion in relation to it, an opinion, too, not un- 
frequently adopted by men who should have known 
better, was, as we have before said, that no immediate 
human agency was employed; in other words, that 
the machine was purely a machine and nothing else. 
Many, however, maintained that the exhibiter himself 
regulated the movements of the figure by mechanical 
means operating through the feet of the box. Others, 
again, spoke confidently of a magnet. Of the first of 
these opinions we shall say nothing at present more 
than we have already said. In relation to the second 


1 The making the Turk pronounce the word “ echec”’ is an im- 
provement by M. Maelzel. When in possession of Baron Kempe- 
len, the figure indicated a check by rapping on the box with his 
right hand. 


153 


MISCELLANIES 


it is only necessary to repeat, what we have before 
stated, that the machine is rolled about on castors, 
and will, at the request of a spectator, be moved to 
and fro to any portion of the room, even during the 
progress of the game. The supposition of the magnet 
is also untenable; for, if a magnet were the agent, 
any other magnet in the pocket of a spectator would 
disarrange the entire mechanism. The exhibiter, 
however, will suffer the most powerful loadstone to 
remain even upon the box during the whole of the 
exhibition. 

The first attempt at a written explanation of the 
secret, at least the first attempt of which we ourselves 
have any knowledge, was made in a large pamphlet 
printed at Paris in 1785. The author’s hypothesis 
amounted to this— that a dwarf actuated the machine. 
This dwarf he supposed to conceal himself during the 
opening of the box by thrusting his legs into two hol- 
low cylinders, which were represented to be (but 
which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard 
No. 1, while his body was out of the box entirely, and 
covered by the drapery of the Turk. When the doors 
were shut, the dwarf was enabled to bring his body 
within the box—the noise produced by some portion 
of the machinery allowing him to do so unheard, and 
also to close the door by which he entered. The inte- 
rior of the Automaton being then exhibited, and no 
person discovered, the spectators, says the author of 
this pamphlet, are satisfied that no one is within any 
portion of the machine. This whole hypothesis was 
too obviously absurd to require comment or refuta- 
tion, and accordingly we find that it attracted very 
little attention. 

In 1789 a book was published at Dresden by M. I. 


154 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


F. Freyhere in which another endeavor was made to 
unravel the mystery. Mr. Freyhere’s book was a 
pretty large one, and copiously illustrated by colored 
engravings. His supposition was that “a well-taught 
boy very thin and tall of his age (sufficiently so that 
he could be concealed in a drawer almost immediately 
under the chess-board)” played the game of chess 
and effected all the evolutions of the Automaton. 
This idea, although even more silly than that of the 
Parisian author, met with a better reception, and was 
in some measure believed to be the true solution of 
the wonder, until the inventor put an end to the dis- 
cussion by suffering a close examination of the top of 
the box. 

These bizarre attempts at explanation were followed 
by others equally bizarre. Of late years, however, an 
anonymous writer, by a course of reasoning exceed- 
ingly unphilosophical, has contrived to blunder upon a 
plausible solution — although we cannot consider it 
altogether the true one. His Essay was first published 
ina Baltimore weekly paper, was illustrated by cuts, 
and was entitled “An Attempt to analyze the Automa- 
ton Chess-Player of M. Maelzel.” This Essay we 
suppose to have been the original of the damphlet to 
which Sir David Brewster alludes in his “ Letters on 
Natural Magic,” and which he has no hesitation in de- 
claring a thorough and satisfactory explanation. The 
results of the analysis are undoubtedly, in the main, 
just; but we can only account for Brewster’s pro- 
nouncing the Essay a thorough and satisfactory expla- 
nation, by supposing him to have bestowed upon it a 
very cursory and inattentive perusal. In the compen- 
dium of the Essay, made use of in the “ Letters on 
Natural Magic,” it is quite impossible to arrive at any 


155 


MISCELLANIES 


distinct conclusion in regard to the adequacy or inad- 
equacy of the analysis, on account of the gross mis- 
arrangement and deficiency of the letters of reference 
employed. The same fault is to be found in the 
“ Attempt,” etc., as we originally saw it. The solu- 
tion consists in a series of minute explanations (ac- 
companied by wood-cuts, the whole occupying many 
pages), in which the object is to show the fossibility 
of so shifting the partitions of the box, as to allow a 
human being, concealed in the interior, to move por- 
tions of his body from one part of the box to another, 
during the exhibition of the mechanism —thus elud- 
ing the scrutiny of the spectators. There can be no 
doubt, as we have before observed, and as we will 
presently endeavor to show, that the principle, or 
rather the result of this solution, is the true one. 
Some person zs concealed in the box during the whole 
time of exhibiting the interior. We object, however, 
to the whole verbose description of the manner in 
which the partitions are shifted, to accommodate the 
movements of the person concealed. We object to it 
as a mere theory assumed in the first place, and to 
which circumstances are afterwards made to adapt 
themselves. It was not, and could not have been, 
arrived at by any inductive reasoning. In whatever 
way the shifting is managed, it is of course concealed 
at every step from observation. To show that certain 
movements might possibly be effected in a certain 
way, is very far from showing that they are actually 
so effected. There may be an infinity of other 
methods by which the same results may be obtained. 
The probability of the one assumed proving the cor- 
rect one is then as unity to infinity. But, in reality, 
this particular point, the shifting of the partitions, is 
156 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


of no consequence whatever. It was altogether un- 
necessary to devote seven or eight pages for the pur- 
pose of proving what no one in his senses would 
deny — viz., that the wonderful mechanical genius of 
Baron Kempelen could invent the necessary means 
for shutting a door or slipping aside a panel, with a 
human agent too at his service in actual contact with 
the panel or the door, and the whole operations car- 
ried on, as the author of the Essay himself shows, 
and as we shall attempt to show more fully here- 
after, entirely out of reach of the observation of the 
spectators. 

In attempting ourselves an explanation of the Au- 
tomaton, we will, in the first place, endeavor to show 
how its operations are effected, and afterwards de- 
scribe, as briefly as possible, the nature of the odser- 
vations from which we have deduced our result. 

It will be necessary for a proper understanding of 
the subject, that we repeat here, in a few words, the 
routine adopted by the exhibiter in disclosing the 
interior of the box—a routine from which he zever 
deviates in any material particular. In the first place 
“he opens the door No. 1. Leaving this open, he goes 
round to the rear of the box, and opens a door pre- 
cisely at the back of door No.1. To this back door 
he holds a lighted candle. He then closes the back 
door, locks it, and, coming round to the front, opens 
the drawer to its full extent. This done, he opens the 
doors No. 2 and No. 3 (the folding-doors), and displays 
the interior of the main compartment. Leaving open 
the main compartment, the drawer, and the front door 
of cupboard No. 1, he now goes to the rear again, and 
throws open the back door of the main compartment. 
In shutting up the box no particular order is observed, 


157 


MISCELLANIES 


except that the folding-doors are mee closed before 
the drawer. 

Now, let us suppose that, when the machine is first 
rolled into the presence of the spectators, a man is 
already within it. His body is situated behind the 
dense machinery in cupboard No. 1 (the rear portion 
of which machinery is so contrived as to slip ez 
masse from the main compartment to the cupboard 
No. I, as occasion may require), and his legs lie at 
full length in the main compartment. When Maelzel 
opens the door No. 1, the man within is not in any 
danger of discovery, for the keenest eye cannot pene- 
trate more than about two inches into the darkness 
within. But the case is otherwise when the back 
door of the cupboard No.1 is opened. A bright light 
then pervades the cupboard, and the body of the man 
would be discovered if it were there. But it is not. 
The putting the key in the lock of the back door 
was a signal on hearing which the person concealed 
brought his body forward to an angle as acute as 
possible — throwing it altogether, or nearly so, into 
the main compartment. This, however, is a painful 
position, and cannot belong maintained. Accordingly 
we find that Maelzel closes the back door. This being 
done, there is no reason why the body of the man may 
not resume its former situation — for the cupboard is 
again so dark as to defy scrutiny. The drawer is now 
opened, and the legs of the person within drop down 
behind it in the space it formerly occupied. There 


1 Sir David Brewster supposes that there is always a large space 
behind this drawer even when shut; in other words, that the 
drawer is a “false drawer,” and does not extend to the back of 
the box. But the idea is altogether untenable. So common- 
place a trick would be immediately discovered — especially as the 


158 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


is, consequently, now no longer any part of the man 
in the main compartment — his body being behind the 
machinery in cupboard No. 1, and his legs in the 
space occupied by the drawer. The exhibiter, there- 
fore, finds himself at liberty to display the main com- 
partment. This he does— opening both its back and 
front doors — and no person is discovered. The 
spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the box 
is exposed to view — and exposed, too, all portions of 
it at one and the same time. But of course this is 
not the case. They neither see the space behind the 
drawer, nor the interior of cupboard No. 1 — the front 
door of which latter the exhibiter virtually shuts, in 
shutting its back door. Maelzel, having now rolled 
the machine around, lifted up the drapery of the Turk, 
opened the doors in his back and thigh, and shown his 
trunk to be full of machinery, brings the whole back 
into its original position, and closes the doors. The 
man within is now at liberty to move about. He gets 
up into the body of the Turk just so high as to bring 
his eyes above the level of the chess-board. It is very 
probable that he seats himself upon the little square 
bleck or protuberance which is seen in a corner of the 
main compartment when the doors areopen. In this 
position he sees the chess-board, through the bosom 
of the Turk, which is of gauze. Bringing his right 
arm across his breast, he actuates the little machinery 
necessary to guide the left arm and the fingers of the 
figure. This machinery is situated just beneath the 
left shoulder of the Turk, and is consequently easily 
reached by the right hand of the man concealed, if we 
suppose his right arm brought across the breast. The 


drawer is always opened to its full extent, and an opportunity thus 
offered of comparing its depth with that of the box. 


159 


MISCELLANIES 


motions of the head and eyes, and of the right arm of 
the figure, as well as the sound “echec,” are produced by 
other mechanism in the interior, and actuated at will 
by the man within. The whole of this mechanism — 
that is to say, all the mechanism essential to the 
machine — is most probably contained within the little 
cupboard (of about six inches in breadth) partitioned 
off at the right (the spectators’ right) of the main 
compartment. 

In this analysis of the operations of the Automaton, 
we have purposely avoided any allusion to the manner 
in which the partitions are shifted, and it will now be 
readily comprehended that this point is a matter of no 
importance, since, by mechanism within the ability of 
any common carpenter, it might be effected in an 
infinity of different ways, and since we have shown 
that, however performed, it is performed out of the 
view of the spectators. Our result is founded upon 
the following observations taken during frequent visits 
to the exhibition of Maelzel.} 

1. The moves of the Turk are not made at regular 
intervals of time, but accommodate themselves to the 
moves of the antagonist — although this point (of 
regularity), so important in all kinds of mechanical 
contrivance, might have been readily brought about 
by limiting the time allowed for the moves of the 
antagonist. For example, if this limit were three 


1 Some of these observations are intended merely to prove that 
the machine must be regulated dy mind, and it may be thought a 
work of supererogation to advance farther arguments in support of 
what has been already fully decided. But our object is to con- 
vince, in especial, certain of our friends upon whom a train of 
suggestive reasoning will have more influence than the most posi- 
tive a Zriorit demonstration. 

160 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


minutes, the moves of the Automaton might be made 
at any given intervals longer than three minutes. The 
fact then of irregularity, when regularity might have 
been so easily attained, goes to prove that regularity 
is unimportant to the action of the Automaton; in 
other words, that the Automaton is not a pure 
machine. 

2. When the Automaton is about to move a piece, 
a distinct motion is observable just beneath the left 
shoulder, and which motion agitates in a slight degree 
the drapery covering the front of the left shoulder. 
This motion invariably precedes, by about two seconds, 
the movement of the arm itself —and the arm never, 
in any instance, moves without this preparatory motion 
in the shoulder. Now let the antagonist move a piece, 
and let the corresponding move be made by Maelzel, 
as usual, upon the board of the Automaton. Then let 
the antagonist narrowly watch the Automaton, until 
he detect the preparatory motion in the shoulder. 
Immediately upon detecting this motion, and before 
the arm itself begins to move, let him withdraw his 
piece, as if perceiving an error in his manceuvre. It 
wilh then be seen that the movement of the arm, 
which, in all other cases, immediately succeeds the 
motion in the shoulder, is withheld — is not made — 
although Maelzel has not yet performed, on the board 
of the Automaton, any move corresponding to the 
withdrawal of the antagonist. In this case, that the 
Automaton was about to move is evident — and that 
he did not move was an effect plainly produced by 
the withdrawal of the antagonist, and without any 
intervention of Maelzel. 

This fact fully proves: 1— that the intervention of 
Maelzel, in performing the moves of the antagonist 

VOL. IX. — II 161 


MISCELLANIES 


on the board of the Automaton, is not essential to the 
movements of the Automaton; 2— that its movements 
are regulated by szxad—by some person who sees 
the board of the antagonist; 3 —that its movements 
are not regulated by the mind of Maelzel, whose back 
was turned towards the antagonist at the withdrawal 
of his move. 

3. The Automaton does not invariably win the game. 
Were the machine a pure machine this would not be 
the case; it would always win. The principle being 
discovered by which a machine can be made to play 
a game of chess, an extension of the same principle 
would enable it to wzz a game; a farther extension 
would enable it to wz al/ games, that is, to beat any 
possible game of an antagonist. A little considera- 
tion will convince any one that the difficulty of making 
a machine beat all games is not in the least degree 
greater, as regards the principle of the operations 
necessary, than that of making it beat a single game. 
If then we regard the Chess-Player as a machine, we 
must suppose (what is highly improbable) that its 
inventor preferred leaving it incomplete to perfecting 
it; a supposition rendered still more absurd, when 
we reflect that the leaving it incomplete would afford 
an argument against the possibility of its being a pure 
machine — the very argument we now adduce. 

4. When the situation of the game is difficult or 
complex, we never perceive the Turk either shake his 
head or roll his eyes. It is only when his next move 
is obvious, or when the game is so circumstanced 
that to a man in the Automaton’s place there would 
be no necessity for reflection. Now these peculiar 
movements of the head and eyes are movements 
customary with persons engaged in meditation, and 

162 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


the ingenious Baron Kempelen would have adapted 
these movements (were the machine a pure machine) 
to occasions proper for their display—that is, to 
occasions of complexity. But the reverse is seen to 
be the case, and this reverse applies precisely to our 
supposition of a man in the interior. When engaged 
in meditation about the game he has no time to think 
of setting in motion the mechanism of the Automaton 
by which are moved the head and the eyes. When 
the game, however, is obvious, he has time to look 
about him, and, accordingly, we see the head shake 
and the eyes roll. 

5. When the machine is rolled round to allow the 
spectators an examination of the back of the Turk, 
and when his drapery is lifted up and the doors in the 
trunk and thigh thrown open, the interior of the trunk 
is seen to be crowded with machinery. In scrutinizing 
this machinery while the Automaton was in motion, 
that is to say, while the whole machine was moving 
on the castors, it appeared to us that certain portions 
of the mechanism changed their shape and position in 
a degree too great to be accounted for by the simple 
laws Of perspective ; and subsequent examinations con- 
vinced us that these undue alterations were attributable 
to mirrors in the interior of the trunk. The introduc- 
tion of mirrors among the machinery could not have 
been intended to influence, in any degree, the machin- 
ery itself. Their operation, whatever that operation 
should prove to be, must necessarily have reference 
to the eye of the spectator. We at once concluded 
that these mirrors were so placed to multiply to the 
vision some few pieces of machinery within the trunk 
so as to give it the appearance of being crowded with 
mechanism. Now the direct inference from this is 

163 


MISCELLANIES 


that the machine is not a pure machine. For if it 
were, the inventor, so far from wishing its mechanism 
to appear complex, and using deception for the pur- 
pose of giving it this appearance, would have been 
especially desirous of convincing those who witnessed 
his exhibition, of the szp/iczty of the means by which 
results so wonderful were brought about. 

6. The external appearance, and, especially, the 
deportment of the Turk, are, when we consider them 
as imitations of /zfe, but very indifferent imitations. 
The countenance evinces no ingenuity, and is sur- 
passed, in its resemblance to the human face, by the 
very commonest of waxworks. The eyes roll unnat- 
urally in the head, without any corresponding motions 
of the lids or brows. The arm, particularly, performs 
its operations in an exceedingly stiff, awkward, jerking, 
and rectangular manner. Now, all this is the result 
either of inability in Maelzel to do better, or of in- 
tentional neglect — accidental neglect being out of the 
question, when we consider that the whole time of the 
ingenious proprietor is occupied in the improvement of 
his machines. Most assuredly we must not refer the 
unlife-like appearances to inability, for all the rest of 
Maelzel’s automata are evidence of his full ability to 
copy the motions and peculiarities of life with the 
most wonderful exactitude. The rope-dancers, for 
example, are inimitable. When the clown laughs, his 
lips, his eyes, his eyebrows, and eyelids — indeed, all 
the features of his countenance —are imbued with 
their appropriate expressions. In both him and his 
companion, every gesture is so entirely easy, and free 
from the semblance of artificiality, that, were it not 
for the diminutiveness of their size, and the fact of 
their being passed from one spectator to another 

164 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


previous to their exhibition on the rope, it would be 
difficult to convince any assemblage of persons that 
these wooden automata were not living creatures. 
We cannot, therefore, doubt M. Maelzel’s ability, and 
we must necessarily suppose that he intentionally 
suffered his Chess-Player to remain the same artificial 
and unnatural figure which Baron Kempelen (no doubt 
also through design) originally made it. What this 
design was it is not difficult to conceive. Were the 
Automaton life-like in its motions, the spectator would 
be more apt to attribute its operations to their true 
cause (that is, to human agency within) than he is 
now, when the awkward and rectangular manceuvres 
convey the idea of pure and unaided mechanism. 

7. When a short time previous to the commence- 
ment of the game, the Automaton is wound up by the 
exhibiter as usual, an ear in any degree accustomed 
to the sounds produced in winding up a system of 
machinery will not fail to discover, instantaneously, 
that the axis turned by the key in the box of the 
Chess-Player cannot possibly be connected with either 
a weight, a spring, or any system of machinery what- 
ever. The inference here is the same as in our last 
observation.» The winding up is inessential to the 
operations of the Automaton, and is performed with 
the design of exciting in the spectators the false idea 
of mechanism. 

8. When the question is demanded explicitly of 
Maelzel— “Is the Automaton a pure machine or 
not?” his reply is invariably the same — “I will say 
nothing about it.” Now the notoriety of the Automa- 
ton, and the great curiosity it has everywhere excited, 
are owing more especially to the prevalent opinion 
that it zs a pure machine, than to any other circum- 

165 


MISCELLANIES 


stance. Of course, then, it is the interest of the pro. 
prietor to represent it as a pure machine. And what 
more obvious and more effectual method could there 
be of impressing the spectators with this desired idea, 
than a positive and explicit declaration to that effect ? 
On the other hand, what more obvious and effectual 
method could there be of exciting a disbelief in the 
Automaton’s being a pure machine, than by with- 
holding such explicit declaration? For, people will 
naturally reason thus:—It is Maelzel’s interest to 
represent this thing a pure machine; he refuses to do 
so, directly, in words, although he does not scruple 
and is evidently anxious to do so indirectly by actions; 
were it actually what he wishes to represent it by 
actions, he would gladly avail himself of the more 
direct testimony of words; the inference is, that a 
consciousness of its ot being a pure machine is the 
reason of his silence; his actions cannot implicate 
him in a falsehood — his words may. 

9g. When, in exhibiting the interior of the box, 
Maelzel has thrown open the door No. 1, and also the 
door immediately behind it, he holds a lighted candle 
at the back door (as mentioned above), and moves 
the entire machine to and fro with a view of convinc- 
ing the company that the cupboard No. 1 is entirely 
filled with machinery. When the machine is thus 
moved about, it will be apparent, to any careful ob- 
server, that, whereas that portion of the machinery 
near the front door No. 1 is perfectly steady and 
unwavering, the portion farther within fluctuates, in a 
very slight degree, with the movements of the machine. 
This circumstance first aroused in us the suspicion 
that the more remote portion of the machinery was so 
arranged as to be easily slipped, e masse, from its 

166 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


position when occasion should require it. This occa- 
sion we have already stated to occur when the man 
concealed within brings his body into an erect position 
upon the closing of the back door. 

Io. Sir David Brewster states the figure of the Turk 
to be of the size of life; but in fact it is far above the 
ordinary size. Nothing is more easy than to err in 
our notions of magnitude. The body of the Automa- 
ton is generally insulated, and, having no means of 
immediately comparing it with any human form, we 
suffer ourselves to consider it as of ordinary dimen- 
sions. This mistake may, however, be corrected by 
observing the Chess-Player when, as is sometimes the 
case, the exhibiter approaches it. M. Maelzel, to be 
sure, is not very tall, but upon drawing near the ma- 
chine, his head will be found at least eighteen inches 
below the head of the Turk, although the latter, it will 
be remembered, is in a sitting position. 

11. The box behind which the Automaton is placed, 
is precisely three feet six inches long, two feet four 
inches deep, and two feet six inches high. These 
dimensions are fully sufficient for the accommodation 
of a man very much above the common size; and the 
main compartment alone is capable of holding any 
ordinary man in the position we have mentioned as 
assumed by the person concealed. As these are facts, 
which any one who doubts them may prove by actual 
calculation, we deem it unnecessary to dwell upon 
them. We will only suggest that, although the top 
of the box is apparently a board of about three inches 
in thickness, the spectator may satisfy himself, by 
stooping and looking up at it when the main compart- 
ment is open, that it is in reality very thin. The 
height of the drawer also will be misconceived by 

167 


MISCELLANIES 


those who examine it ina cursory manner. There is 
a space of about three inches between the top of the 
drawer, as seen from the exterior, and the bottom of 
the cupboard —a space which must be included in 
the height of the drawer. These contrivances to make 
the room within the box appear less than it actually 
is, are referable to a design on the part of the inven- 
tor, to impress the company again with a false idea, 
viz., that no human being can be accommodated 
within the box. 

12. The interior of the main compartment is lined 
throughout with cloth. This cloth we suppose to 
have a twofold object. A portion of it may form, 
when tightly stretched, the only partitions which there 
is any necessity for removing during the changes of 
the man’s position, viz., the partition between the rear 
of the main compartment and the rear of cupboard 
No. 1, and the partition between the main compart- 
ment and the space behind the drawer when open. 
If we imagine this to be the case, the difficulty of 
shifting the partitions vanishes at once, if indeed any 
such difficulty could be supposed under any circum- 
stances to exist. The second object of the cloth 
is to deaden and render indistinct all sounds occa- 
sioned by the movements of the person within. 

13. The antagonist (as we have before observed) 
is not suffered to play at the board of the Automaton, 
but is seated at some distance from the machine. 
The reason which, most probably, would be assigned 
for this circumstance, if the question were demanded, 
is that, were the antagonist otherwise situated, his 
person would intervene between the machine and the 
spectators and preclude the latter from a distinct 
view. But this difficulty might be easily obviated, 

168 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


either by elevating the seats of the company, or by 
turning the end of the box towards them during the 
game. The true cause of the restriction is, perhaps, 
very different. Were the antagonist seated in contact 
with the box, the secret would be liable to discovery, 
by his detecting, with the aid of a quick ear, the 
breathings of the man concealed. 

14. Although M. Maelzel, in disclosing the interior 
of the machine, sometimes slightly deviates from the 
routine which we have pointed out, yet ever in any 
instance does he so deviate from it as to interfere with 
our solution. For example, he has been known to 
open first of all the drawer — but he never opens the 
main compartment without first closing the back door 
of cupboard No. 1; he never opens the main compart- 
ment without first pulling out the drawer; he never 
shuts the drawer without first shutting the main com- 
partment; he never opens the back door of cupboard 
No. 1 while the main compartment is open; and the 
game of chess is never commenced until the whole 
machine is closed. Now, if it were observed that 
never, in any single instance, did M. Maelzel differ 
from the routine we have pointed out as necessary 
to our solution, it would be one of the strongest possi- 
ble arguments in corroboration of it; but the argument 
becomes infinitely strengthened if we duly consider 
the circumstance that he does occasionally deviate 
from the routine, but never does so deviate as to 
falsify the solution. 

15. There are six candles on the board of the 
Automaton during exhibition. The question natur- 
ally arises —‘‘Why are so many employed, when 
a single candle, or, at farthest, two, would have been 
amply sufficient to afford the spectators a clear view 

169 


MISCELLANIES 


of the board, in a room otherwise so well lit up as the 
exhibition room always is; when, moreover, if we 
suppose the machine a pure machine, there can be 
no necessity for so much light, or indeed any light 
at all,.to enable zf to perform its operations; and 
when, especially, only a single candle is placed upon 
the table of the antagonist?” The first and most 
obvious inference is, that so strong a light is requisite 
to enable the man within to see through the trans- 
parent material (probably fine gauze) of which the 
breast of the Turk is composed. But when we con- 
sider the arrangement of the candles, another reason 
immediately presents itself. There are six lights 
(as we have said before) in all. Three of these are 
on each side of the figure. Those most remote from 
the spectators are the longest, those in the middle 
are about two inches shorter, and those nearest the 
company about two inches shorter still; and the can- 
dles on one side differ in height from the candles 
respectively opposite on the other, by a ratio different 
from two inches —that is to say, the longest candle 
on one side is about three inches shorter than the 
longest candle on the other, and soon. Thus it will 
be seen that no two of the candles are of the same 
height, and thus also the difficulty of ascertaining 
the material of the breast of the figure (against which 
the light is especially directed) is greatly augmented 
by the dazzling effect of the complicated crossings 
of the rays—crossings which are brought about by 
placing the centres of radiation all upon different 
levels. 

16. While the Chess-Player was in possession of 
Baron Kempelen, it was more than once observed, 
first, that an Italian in the suite of the Baron was 

170 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


never visible during the playing of a game at chess 
by the Turk, and, secondly, that the Italian being 
taken seriously ill, the exhibition was suspended until 
his recovery. This Italian professed a Zofal ig- 
norance of the game of chess, although all others of 
the suite played well. Similar observations have been 
made since the Automaton has been purchased by 
Maelzel. There is a man, Schlumberger, who attends 
him wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible oc- 
cupation other than that of assisting in the packing 
and unpacking of the Automaton. This man is about 
the medium size, and has a remarkable stoop in the 
shoulders. Whether he professes to play chess, or 
not, we are not informed. It is quite certain, however, 
that he is never to be seen during the exhibition of the 
Chess-Player, although frequently visible just before and 
just after the exhibition. Moreover, some years ago 
Maelzel visited Richmond with his automata, and 
exhibited them, we believe, in the house now occupied 
by M. Bossieux as a Dancing Academy. Schlumber- 
ger was suddenly taken ill, and during his illness 
there was no exhibition of the Chess-Player. These 
facts are well known to many of our citizens. The 
reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess- 
Player’s performances was zof the illness of Schlum- 
berger. The inferences from: all this we leave, 
without farther comment, to the reader. 

17. The Turk plays with his /eff arm. A circum- 
stance so remarkable cannot be accidental. Brewster 
takes no notice of it whatever, beyond a mere state- 
ment, we believe, that such is the fact.. The early 
writers of treatises on the Automaton seem not to 
have observed the matter at all, and have no refer- 
ence toit. The author of the pamphlet alluded to by 

171 


MISCELLANIES 


Brewster mentions it, but acknowledges his inability 
to account for it. Yet it is obviously from such 
prominent discrepancies or incongruities as this that 
deductions are to be made (if made at all) which 
shall lead us to the truth. 

The circumstance of the Automaton’s playing with 
his left hand cannot have connection with the opera- 
tions of the machine, considered merely as such. 
Any mechanical arrangement, which would cause 
the figure to move in any given manner the left 
arm, could, if reversed, cause it to move in the same 
manner the right. But these principles cannot be 
extended to the human organization, wherein there 
is a marked and radical difference in the construction, 
and, at all events, in the powers, of the right and left 
arms. Reflecting upon this latter fact, we naturally 
refer the incongruity noticeable in the Chess-Player 
to this peculiarity in the human organization. If so, 
we must imagine some veverszon, for the Chess- 
Player plays precisely as a man would not. These 
ideas, once entertained, are sufficient of themselves to 
suggest the notion of a man in the interior. A few 
more imperceptible steps lead us, finally, to the result. 
The Automaton plays with his left arm, because under 
no other circumstances could the man within play 
with his right—a desideratum, of course. Let us, 
for example, imagine the Automaton to play with 
his right arm. To reach the machinery which moves 
the arm, and which we have before explained to lie 
just beneath the shoulder, it would be necessary for 
the man within either to use his right arm in an ex- 
ceedingly painful and awkward position (viz., brought 
up close to his body and tightly compressed between 
his body and the side of the Automaton), or else to 

172 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


use his left arm brought across his breast. In neither 
case could he act with the requisite ease or precision. 
On the contrary, the Automaton playing, as it actually 
does, with the left arm, all difficulties vanish. The 
right arm of the man within is brought across his 
breast, and his right fingers act, without any con- 
straint, upon the machinery in the shoulder of the 
figure, 

We do not believe that any reasonable objections 
can be urged against this solution of the Automaton 
Chess-Player. 


173 


PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


In the internal decoration, if not in the external 
architecture of their residences, the English are 
supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment 
beyond marbles and colors. In France, meliora 
probant, deteriora sequuntur —the people are too 
much a race of gad-abouts to maintain those house- 
hold proprieties of which, indeed, they have a deli- 
cate appreciation, or at least the elements of a proper 
sense. The Chinese and most of the Eastern races 
‘have a warm but inappropriate fancy. The Scotch 
are poor decorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an 
indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. 
In Spain they are a// curtains — a nation of hangmen. 
The Russians do not furnish. The Hottentots and 
Kickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees 
alone are preposterous. 

How this happens, it is not difficult to see. We 
have no aristocracy of blood, and having therefore, 
as a natural, and indeed as an inevitable thing, fash- 
ioned for ourselves an aristocracy of dollars, the ds- 
play of wealth has here to take the place and perform 
the office of the heraldic display in monarchical coun- 
tries. By a transition readily understood, and which 
might have been as readily foreseen, we have been 
brought to merge in simple sow our notions of taste 
itself. 


174 


PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


To speak less abstractly. In England, for exam- 
ple, no mere parade of costly appurtenances would be 
so likely as with us to create an impression of the 
beautiful in respect to the appurtenances themselves, 
or of taste as regards the proprietor; this for the 
reason, first, that wealth is not, in England, the 
loftiest object of ambition as constituting a nobility ; 
and secondly, that there the true nobility of blood, 
confining itself within the strict limits of legitimate 
taste, rather avoids than affects that mere costliness 
in which a parvenu rivalry may at any time be suc- 
cessfully attempted. The people wz// imitate the 
nobles, and the result is a thorough diffusion of the 
proper feeling. But in America, the coins current 
being the sole arms of the aristocracy, their display 
may be said, in general, to be the sole means of aris- 
tocratic distinction; and the populace, looking always 
upward for models, are insensibly led to confound the 
two entirely separate ideas of magnificence and beauty. 
In short, the cost of an article of furniture has at 
length come to be, with us, nearly the sole test of its 
merit in a decorative point of view; and this test, 
once established, has led the way to many analo- 
gous errors, readily traceable to the one primitive 
folly. 

There could be nothing more directly offensive to 
the eye of an artist than the interior of what is termed 
in the United States —that is to say, in Appalachia 
—a well-furnished apartment. Its most usual defect 
is a want of keeping. We speak of the keeping ofa 
room as we would of the keeping of a picture; for both 
the picture and the room are amenable to those un- 
deviating principles which regulate all varieties of art; 
and very nearly the same laws, by which we decide on 


175 


MISCELLANIES 


the higher merits of a painting, suffice for decision on 
the adjustment of a chamber. . 

A want of keeping is observable sometimes in the 
character of the several pieces of furniture, but gen- 
erally in their colors or modes of adaptation to use. 
Very often the eye is offended by their inartistical 
arrangement. Straight lines are too prevalent, too 
uninterruptedly continued, or clumsily interrupted at 
right angles. If curved lines occur, they are repeated 
into unpleasant uniformity. By undue precision, the 
appearance of many a fine apartment is utterly 
spoiled. 

Curtains are rarely well disposed, or well chosen inh 
respect to other decorations. With formal furniture, 
curtains are out of place; and an extensive volume of 
drapery of any kind is, under any circumstances, irrec- 
oncilable with good taste—the proper quantum, as 
well as the proper adjustment, depending upon the 
character of the general effect. 

Carpets are better understood of late than of 
ancient days, but we still very frequently err in their 
patterns and colors. The soul of the apartment is 
the carpet. From it are deduced not only the hues 
but the forms of all objects incumbent. <A judge at 
common law may be an ordinary man; a good judge 
of a carpet must bea genius. Yet we have heard dis- 
coursing of carpets, with the air “aun mouton gut 
véve,” fellows who should not and who could not be 
intrusted with the management of their own mus- 
taches. Every one knows that a large floor may have 
a covering of large figures, and that a small one 
must have a covering of small — yet this is not all the 
knowledge in the world. As regards texture, the 
Saxony is alone admissible. Brussels is the preter- 

176 


PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


pluperfect tense of fashion, and Turkey is taste in its 
dying agonies. Touching pattern, a carpet should 
not be bedizened out like a Riccaree Indian —all red 
chalk, yellow ochre, and cock’s feathers. In brief — 
distinct grounds, and vivid circular or cycloid figures, 
ofno meaning, are here Median laws. The abomi- 
nation of flowers, or representations of well-known 
objects of any kind, should not be endured within the 
limits of Christendom. Indeed, whether on carpets, 
or curtains, or tapestry, or ottoman coverings, all 
upholstery of this nature should be rigidly arabesque. 
As for those antique floor-cloths still occasionally 
seen in the dwellings of the rabble — cloths of huge, 
sprawling, and radiating devices, stripe-interspersed, 
and glorious with all hues, among which no ground is 
intelligible — these are but the wicked invention of a 
race of time-servers and money-lovers, children of 
Baal and worshippers of Mammon; Benthams, who, 
to spare thought and economize fancy, first cruelly 
invented the kaleidoscope, and then established joint- 
stock companies to twirl it by steam. 

Glare is a leading error in the philosophy of 
American household decoration, an error easily recog- 
nized as deduced from the perversion of taste just 
specified. We are violently enamoured of gas and of 
glass. The former is totally inadmissible within 
doors. Its harsh and unsteady light offends. No 
one having both brains and eyes will use it. A mild 
or what artists term a cool light, with its consequent 
warm shadows, will do wonders for even an ill 
furnished apartment. Never was a more lovely 
thought than that of the astral lamp. We mean, of 
course, the astral lamp proper — the lamp of Argand, 
with its original plain ground-glass shade, and its 

VOL, IX. — 12 177 


MISCELLANIES 


tempered and uniform moonlight rays. The cut-glass 
shade is a weak invention of the enemy. The eager- 
ness with which we have adopted it, partly on account 
of its flashiness, but principally on account of its 
greater cost, is a good commentary on the proposition 
with which we began. It is not too much to say that 
the deliberate employer of a cut-glass shade is either 
radically deficient in taste or blindly subservient to 
the caprices of fashion. The light proceeding from 
one of these gaudy abominations is unequal, broken, 
and painful. It alone is sufficient to mar a world of 
good effect in the furniture subjected to its influence. 
Female loveliness, in especial, is more than one-half 
disenchanted beneath its evil eye. 

In the matter of glass, generally, we proceed upon 
false principles. Its leading feature is ¢/¢tter — and 
in that one word how much of all that is detestable do 
we express! Flickering, unquiet lights are some- 
times pleasing—to children and idiots always so— 
but in the embellishment of a room they should be 
scrupulously avoided. In truth, even strong steady 
lights are inadmissible. The huge and unmeaning 
glass chandeliers, prism-cut, gas-lighted, and without 
shade, which dangle in our most fashionable drawing- 
rooms, may be cited as the quintessence of all that is 
false in taste or preposterous in folly. 

The rage for glitter — because its idea has become, 
as we before observed, confounded with that of 
magnificence in the abstract—has led us, also, to 
the exaggerated employment of mirrors. We line our 
dwellings with great British plates, and then imagine 
we have done a fine thing. Now, the slightest thought 
will be sufficient to convince any one, who has an eye 
at all, of the ill effect of numerous looking-glasses, 

178 


PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


and especially of large ones. Regarded apart from 
its reflection, the mirror presents a _ continuous, 
flat, colorless, unrelieved surface,—a thing always 
and obviously unpleasant. Considered as a reflector, 
it is potent in producing a monstrous and odious 
uniformity ; and the evil is here aggravated, not in 
merely direct proportion with the augmentation of its 
sources, but in a ratio constantly increasing. In fact, 
a room with four or five mirrors arranged at random 
is, for all purposes of artistic show, a room of no shape 
at all. If we add to this evil the attendant glitter upon 
glitter, we have a perfect farrago of discordant and 
displeasing effects. The veriest bumpkin, on entering 
an apartment so bedizened, would be instantly aware 
of something wrong, although he might be altogether 
unable to assign a cause for his dissatisfaction. But 
let the same person be led into a room tastefully 
furnished, and he would be startled into an exclama- 
tion of pleasure and surprise. 

It is an evil growing out of our republican institu- 
tions, that here a man of large purse has usually a 
very little soul which he keeps in it. The corruption 
of taste is a portion or a pendant of the dollar-manu- 
facture. As we growrich, our ideas grow rusty. It 
is, therefore, not among our aristocracy that we must 
look (if at all, in Appalachia) for the spirituality of a 
British doudoir. But we have seen apartments in the 
tenure of Americans of moderate means, which, in 
negative merit at least, might vie with any of the 
ormolu’d cabinets of our friends across the water. 
Even zow, there is present to our mind’s eye a small 
and not ostentatious chamber with whose decorations 
no fault can be found. The proprietor lies asleep on 
a sofa — the weather is cool—the time is near mid- 


179 


MISCELLANIES 


night: we will make a sketch of the room during his 
slumber. 

It is oblong —some thirty feet in length and twenty- 
five in breadth —a shape affording the best (ordinary) 
opportunities for the adjustment of furniture. It has 
but one door — by no means a wide one — which 
is at one end of the parallelogram, and but two win- 
dows, which are at the other. These latter are large, 
reaching down to the floor; have deep recesses, and 
open on an Italian veranda. Their panes are of a 
crimson-tinted glass, set in rosewood framings, more 
massive than usual. They are curtained within the 
recess. by a thick silver tissue adapted to the shape of 
the window and hanging loosely in small volumes. 
Without the recess are curtains of an exceedingly rich 
crimson silk, fringed with a deep network of gold, 
and lined with the silver tissue, which is the material 
of the exterior blind. There are no cornices; but 
the folds of the whole fabric (which are sharp rather 
than massive, and have an airy appearance) issue 
from beneath a broad entablature of rich giltwork, 
which encircles the room at the junction of the ceiling 
and walls. The drapery is thrown open also, or 
closed, by means of a thick rope of gold loosely envel- 
oping it, and resolving itself readily into a knot; no 
pins or other such devices are apparent. The colors 
of the curtains and their fringe — the tints of crim- 
son and gold — appear everywhere in profusion, and 
determine the character of the room. The carpet — 
of Saxony material —is quite half an inch thick, and 
is of the same crimson ground, relieved simply by the 
appearance of a gold cord (like that festooning the 
curtains) slightly relieved above the surface of the 
ground, and thrown upon it in such a manner as to 

180 


PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


form a succession of short irregular curves, one occa- 
sionally overlaying the other. The walls are prepared 
with a glossy paper of a silver-gray tint, spotted with 
small arabesque devices of a fainter hue of the preva- 
lent crimson. Many paintings relieve the expanse of 
the paper. These are chiefly landscapes of an imagi- 
native cast; such as the fairy grottos of Stanfield, or 
the Lake of the Dismal Swamp of Chapman. There 
are, nevertheless, three or four female heads, of an 
ethereal beauty — portraits in the manner of Sully. 
The tone of each picture is warm, but dark. There 
are no “ brilliant effects.” efose speaks in all. Not 
one is of small size. Diminutive paintings give that 
spotty look to a room, which is the blemish of so many 
a fine work of Art overtouched. The frames are 
broad but not deep, and richly carved, without being 
dulled or filagreed. They have the whole lustre of 
burnished gold. They lie flat on the walls, and do 
not hang off with cords. The designs themselves are 
often seen to better advantage in this latter position, 
but the general appearance of the chamber is injured. 
But one mirror, and this not a very large one, is visi- 
ble. In shape it is nearly circular, and it is hung so 
that a reflection of the person can be obtained from it 
in none of the ordinary sitting-places of the room. 
Two large low sofas of rosewood and crimson silk, 
gold-flowered, form the only seats, with the exception 
of two light conversation chairs, also of rosewood. 
There is a pianoforte (rosewood, also), without cover, 
and thrown open. An octagonal table, formed alto- 
gether of the richest, gold-threaded marble, is placed 
near one of the sofas. This is also without cover; 
the drapery of the curtains has been thought suffi- 
cient. Four large and gorgeous Sévres vases, in 
181 


MISCELLANIES 


which bloom a profusion of sweet and vivid flowers, 
occupy the slightly rounded angles of the room. A 
tall candelabrum, bearing a small antique lamp with 
highly perfumed oil, is standing near the head of my 
sleeping-friend. Some light and graceful hanging 
shelves, with golden edges and crimson silk cords with 
gold tassels, sustain two or three hundred magnificently 
bound books. Beyond these things, there is no furni- 
ture, if we except an Argand lamp, with a plain, crim- 
son-tinted ground-glass shade, which depends from 
the lofty vaulted ceiling by a single slender gold chain, 
and throws a tranquil but magical radiance over all. 


182 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


U NDER this head, some years ago, there appeared, 
in the “Southern Literary Messenger,” an article 
which attracted very general attention, not less from 
the nature of its subject than from the peculiar man- 
ner in which it was handled. The editor introduces 
his readers to a certain Mr. Joseph Miller, who, it is 
hinted, is not merely a descendant of the illustrious 
Joe of jest-book notoriety, but is that identical individ- 
ual in proper person. Upon this point, however, an 
air of uncertainty is thrown by means of an equivoque, 
maintained throughout the paper, in respect to Mr. 
Miller’s middle name. This equivoque is put into the 
mouth of Mr. Miller himself. He gives his name, in 
the first instance, as Joseph A. Miller, but in the 
course of conversation shifts it to Joseph B., then to 
Joseph C., and so on through the whole alphabet, until 
he concludes by desiring a copy of the magazine to be 
sent to his address as Joseph Z. Miller, Esquire. 

The object of his visit to the editor is to place in 
his hands the autographs of certain distinguished 
American literati. To these persons he had written 
rigmarole letters on various topics, and in all cases 
had been successful in eliciting a reply. The replies 
only (which it is scarcely necessary to say are all 
fictitious) are given in the magazine with a genuine 
autograph fac-simile appended, and are either bur- 

183 


MISCELLANIES 


lesques of the supposed writer’s usual style, or ren- 
dered otherwise absurd by reference to the nonsen- 
sical questions imagined to have been propounded by 
Mr. Miller. The autographs thus given are twenty- 
six in all — corresponding to the twenty-six variations 
in the initial letter of the hoaxer’s middle name. 

With the public this article took amazingly well, 
and many of our principal papers were at the expense 
of reprinting it with the wood-cut autographs. Even 
those whose names had been introduced, and whose 
style had been burlesqued, took the joke, generally 
speaking, in good part. Some of them were at a loss 
what to make of the matter. Dr. W. E. Channing, 
of Boston, was at some trouble, it is said, in calling 
to mind whether he had or had not actually written to 
some Mr. Joseph Miller the letter attributed to him in 
the article. This letter was nothing more than what 


follows :— 
‘¢ BOSTON, ——. 


“ DEAR SIR, — No such person as Philip Philpot has ever 
been in my employ as a coachman, or otherwise. The 
name is an odd one, and not likely to be forgotten. The 
man must have reference to some other Doctor Channing. 
It would be as well to question him closely. 

“Respectfully yours, 


“'W. E. CHANNING. 
**To JosEpH X. MiILier, Esq.” 


The precise and brief sententiousness of the divine 
is here, it will be seen, very truly adopted or “hit off.” 
In one instance only was the jeu-desfrit taken in 
serious dudgeon. Colonel Stone and the “ Messenger ” 
had not been upon the best of terms. Some one of 
the colonel’s little brochures had been severely treated 
by that journal, which declared that the work would 
have been far more properly published among the 
184 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


quack advertisements in a spare corner of the “ Com- 
mercial.” The colonel had retaliated by wholesale 
vituperation of the “Messenger.” This being the 
state of affairs, it was not to be wondered at that the 
following epistle was not quietly received on the part 
of him to whom it was attributed: — 


; “NEW YORK, —. 

“ DEAR SiIr,—I am exceedingly and excessively sorry 

that it is out of my power to comply with your rational 

and reasonable request. The subject you mention is one 

with which I am utterly unacquainted. Moreover, it is 
one about which I know very little. 

“ Respectfully, 
“ W. L. STONE. 


** JoszPrH V. MILLER, Esq.” 


These tautologies and anti-climaxes were too much 
for the colonel, and we are ashamed to say that he 
committed himself by publishing in the “ Commercial ” 
an indignant denial of ever having indited such an 
epistle. 

The principal feature of this autograph article, al- 
though perhaps the least interesting, was that of the 
editorial comment upon the supposed manuscripts, re- 
garding them as indicative of character. In these com- 
ments the design was never more than semi-serious. 
At times, too, the writer was evidently led into error or 
injustice through the desire of being pungent — not 
unfrequently sacrificing truth for the sake of a don- 
mot. In this manner qualities were often attributed 
to individuals, which were not so much indicated by 
their handwriting as suggested by the spleen of the 
commentator. But that a strong analogy does gener- 
ally and naturally exist between every man’s chirog- 
raphy and character will be denied by none but the 

185 


MISCELLANIES 


unreflecting. It is not our purpose, however, to enter 
into the philosophy of this subject, either in this por- 
tion of the present paper, or in the abstract. What 
we may have to say will be introduced elsewhere, and 
in connection with particular manuscripts. The prac- 
tical application of the theory will thus go hand in 
hand with the theory itself. 

Our design is threefold:—In the first place, seri- 
ously to illustrate our position that the mental features 
are indicated (with certain exceptions) by the hand- 
writing ; secondly, to indulge in a little literary gossip ; 
and thirdly, to furnish our readers with a more accu- 
rate and at the same time a more general collection of 
the autographs of our literati than is to be found else- 
where. Of the first portion of this design we have 
already spoken. The second speaks for itself. Of 
the third it is only necessary to say that we are confi- 
dent of its interest for all lovers of literature. Next 
to the person of a distinguished man of letters, we 
desire to see his portrait; next to his portrait, his 
autograph. In the latter, especially, there is some- 
thing which seems to bring him before us in his true 
idiosyncrasy — in his character of scrzbe. The feeling 
which prompts to the collection of autographs is a 
natural and rational one. But complete, or even 
extensive, collections are beyond the reach of those 
who themselves do not dabble in the waters of ditera- 
ture. The writer of this article has had opportunities 
in this way enjoyed by few. The manuscripts now 
lying before him are a motley mass indeed. Here are 
letters, or other compositions, from every individual in 
America who has the slightest pretensions to literary 
celebrity. From these we propose to select the most 
eminent names — as to give a/7 would be a work of 

186 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


supererogation. Unquestionably, among those whose 
claims we are forced to postpone, are several whose 
high merit might justly demand a different treatment; 
but the rule applicable in a case like this seems to be 
that of celebrity rather than that of true worth. It 
will be understood that, in the necessity of selection 
which circumstances impose upon us, we confine our- 
selves to the most noted among the living literati of 
the country. The article, above alluded to, embraced, 
as we have already stated, only twenty-six names, and 
was not occupied exclusively either with living per- 
sons, or, properly speaking, with literary ones. In 
fact, the whole paper seemed to acknowledge no law 
beyond that of whim. Our present essay will be 
found to include one hundred autographs. We have 
thought it unnecessary to preserve any particular 
order in their arrangement. 


CAM illite ~ 


Professor CHARLES ANTHON, of Columbia College, 
New York, is well known as the most erudite of our 
classical scholars; and, although still a young man, 
there are few, if any, even in Europe, who surpass 
him in his peculiar path of knowledge. In England, 
his supremacy has been tacitly acknowledged by the 
immediate republication of his editions of Cesar, Sal- 
lust, and Cicero, with other works, and their adoption 
as text-books at Oxford and Cambridge. His ampli- 
fication of Lempriére did him high honor, but of late 
has been entirely superseded by a Classical Dictionary 

187 


MISCELLANIES 


of his own —a work most remarkable for the extent 
and comprehensiveness of its details, as well as for its 
historical, chronological, mythological, and philologi- 
cal accuracy. It has at once completely overshad- 
owed everything of its kind. It follows, as a matter 
of course, that Mr. Anthon has many little enemies 
among the inditers of merely big books. He has not 
been unassailed, yet has assuredly remained unin- 
jured in the estimation of all those whose opinion he 
would be likely to value. We do not mean to say that 
he is altogether without faults, but a certain antique 
Johnsonism of style is perhaps one of his worst. He 
was mainly instrumental (with Professor Henry and 
‘Dr. Hawks) in setting on foot the “New York Re- 
view,” a journal of which he is the most efficient 
literary support, and whose most erudite papers have 
always been furnished by his pen. 

The chirography of Professor Anthon is the most 
regularly beautiful of any in our collection. We see 
the most scrupulous precision, finish, and neatness 
about every portion of it; in the formation of individ- 
ual letters, as well as in the fout-ensemble. The per- 
fect symmetry of the manuscript gives it, to a casual 
glance, the appearance of Italic print. The lines are 
quite straight, and at exactly equal distances, yet are 
written without black rules, or other artificial aid. 
There is not the slightest superfluity in the way of 
flourish or otherwise, with the exception of the twirl 
in the C of the signature. Yet the whole is rather 
neat and graceful than forcible. Of four letters now 
lying before us, one is written on pink, one on a faint 
blue, one on green, and one on yellow paper — all of 
the finest quality. The seal is of green wax, with an 
impression of the head of Cesar, 

188 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


It is in the chirography of such men as Professor 
Anthon that we look with certainty for indication of 
character. The life of a scholar is mostly undisturbed 
by those adventitious events which distort the natural 
disposition of the man of the world, preventing his 
real nature from manifesting itself in his manuscript. 
The lawyer, who, pressed for time, is often forced to 
embody a world of heterogeneous memoranda on 
scraps of paper, with the stumps of all varieties of pen, 
will soon find the fair characters of his boyhood de- 
generate into hieroglyphics which would puzzle Dr. 
Wallis or Champollion; and from chirography so dis- 
turbed it is nearly impossible to decide anything. In 
a similar manner, men who pass through many strik- 
ing vicissitudes of life acquire in each change of cir- 
cumstance a temporary inflection of the handwriting; 
the whole resulting, after many years, in unformed or 
variable manuscript scarcely to be recognized by 
themselves from one day to the other. In the case of 
literary men generally, we may expect some decisive 
token of the mental influence upon the manuscript, 
and in the instance of the classical devotee we may 
look with especial certainty for such token. We see, 
accordingly, in Professor Anthon’s autography each 
and all the known idiosyncrasies of his taste and 
intellect. We recognize at once the scrupulous pre- 
cision and finish of his scholarship and of his style, — 
the love of elegance which prompts him to surround 
himself in his private study with gems of sculptural 
art and beautifully bound volumes, all arranged with 
elaborate attention to form and in the very pedantry 
of neatness. We perceive, too, the disdain of super- 
fluous embellishment which distinguishes his compila- 
tions, and which gives to their exterior appearance 

189 


MISCELLANIES 


so marked an air of Quakerism. We must not forget 
to observe that the “want of force” is a want as per- 
ceptible in the whole character of the man as in that 
of the manuscript. 


The manuscript of Mr. IRvinG has little about it 
indicative of his genius. Certainly, no one could 
suspect from it any nice 7zzsh in the writer’s com- 
positions; nor is this nice finish to be found. The 
letters now before us vary remarkably in appearance; 
and those of late date are not nearly so well written 
as the more antique. Mr. Irving has travelled much, 
has seen many vicissitudes, and has been so thor- 
oughly satiated with fame as to grow slovenly in 
the performance of his literary tasks. This slovenli- 
ness has affected his handwriting. But even from 
his earlier manuscripts there is little to be gleaned, 
except the ideas of simplicity and precision. It must 
be admitted, however, that this fact, in itself, is 
characteristic of the literary manner, which, however 
excellent, has no prominent or very remarkable 
features. 


For the last six or seven years few men have occu- 
pied a more desirable position among us than Mr. 
Igo 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


BENJAMIN. As the editor of the “ American Monthly 
Magazine,” of the “‘ New Yorker,” and more lately of the 
*¢ Signal,” and ‘“‘ New World,” he has exerted an influ- 
ence scarcely second to that of any editor in the coun- 
try. This influence Mr. Benjamin owes to no single 
cause, but to his combined ability, activity, causticity, 
fearlessness, and independence. We use the latter 
term, however, with some mental reservation. The 
editor of the “World” is independent so far as the 
word implies unshaken resolution to follow the bent 
of one’s own will, let the consequences be what they 
may. He is no respecter of persons, and his vitupera- 
tion as often assails the powerful as the powerless; 
indeed, the latter fall rarely under his censure. But 
we cannot call his independence at all times that of 
principle. We can never be sure ‘that he will defend 
a cause merely because it is the cause of truth — 
or even because he regards it as such. He is too 
frequently biassed by personal feelings — feelings now 
of friendship, and again of vindictiveness. He is a 
warm friend, and a bitter, but not implacable enemy. 
His judgment in literary matters should not be 
questioned, but there is some difficulty in getting at 
his real opinion. As a prose writer, his style is lucid, 
terse, and pungent. He is often witty, often cuttingly 
sarcastic, but seldom humorous. He frequently in- 
jures the force of his fiercest attacks by an indul- 
gence in merely vituperative epithets. As a poet, he 
is entitled to far higher consideration than that in 
which he is ordinarily held. He is skilful and pas- 
sionate, as well as imaginative. His sonnets have 
not been surpassed. In short, it is as a poet that his 
better genius is evinced; it is in poetry that his noble 
spirit breaks forth, showing what the man is, and 


IgI 


MISCELLANIES 


what, but for unhappy circumstances, he would invari- 
ably appear. | 

Mr. Benjamin’s manuscript is not very dissimilar 
to Mr. Irving’s, and, like his, it has no doubt been 
greatly. modified by the excitements of life, and by 
the necessity of writing much and hastily, so that 
we can predicate but little respecting it. It speaks 
of his exquisite sensibility and passion. These betray 
themselves in the nervous variation of the manuscript 
as the subject is diversified. When the theme is an 
ordinary one, the writing is legible and has force; 
but when it verges upon anything which may be 
supposed to excite, we see the characters falter as 
they proceed. In the manuscripts of some of his best 
poems this peculiarity is very remarkable. The sig- 
nature conveys the idea of his wswa/ chirography. 


es Phin 


Mr. KENNEDY is well known as the author of 
“ Swallow Barn,” “ Horse-Shoe Robinson,” and “ Rob 
of the Bowl,” three works whose features are strongly 
and decidedly marked. These features are boldness 
and force of thought (disdaining ordinary embellish- 
ment, and depending for its effect upon masses rather 
than upon details), with a predominant sense of the 
picturesgue pervading and giving color to the whole. 
His “Swallow Barn” in especial (and it is by the first 
effort of an author that we form the truest idea of his 
mental bias) is but a rich succession of picturesque 
still-life pieces. Mr. Kennedy is well to do in the 
world, and has always taken the world easily. We 

192 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


may therefore expect to find in his chirography, if ever 
in any, a full indication of the chief features of his 
literary style, especially as this chief feature is so re- 
markably prominent. A glance at his signature will 
convince any one that the indication zs to be found. 
A painter called upon to designate the main peculiar- 
ity of this manuscript would speak at once of the 
picturesque. This character is given it by the ab-: 
sence of hair-strokes, and by the abrupt termination 
of every letter without tapering; also in great meas- 
ure by varying the size and slope of the letters. Great 
uniformity is preserved in the whole air of the manu- 
script, with great variety in the constituent parts. 
Every character has the clearness, boldness, and 
precision of a wood-cut. The long letters do not 
rise or fall in an undue degree above the others. 
Upon the whole, this is a hand which pleases us 
much, although its d¢zarrerie is rather too piquant 
for the general taste. Should its writer devote him- 
self more exclusively to light letters we predict his 
future eminence. The paper on which our epistles 
are written is very fine, clear, and whz¢e, with gilt 
edges. The seal is neat, and just sufficient wax has 
been used for the impression. All this betokens a 
love of the elegant without effeminacy. 


N29 9 


The handwriting of GRENVILLE MELLEN is some- 
what peculiar, and partakes largely of the character 
of his signature as seen above. The whole is highly 
indicative of the poet’s flighty, hyper-fanciful char- 


VOL. IX. — 13 193 


MISCELLANIES 


acter, with his unsettled and often erroneous ideas of 
the beautiful. His straining after effect is well 
paralleled in the formation of the preposterous G in 
the signature, with the two dots by its side. Mr. 
Mellen has genius unquestionably, but there is some- 
thing in his temperament which obscures it. 


Fi ULE cele Lleyn 


—_ fa 


No correct notion of Mr. PAULDING’s literary pecu- 
liarities can be obtained from an inspection of his 
manuscript, which no doubt has been strongly 
modified by adventitious circumstances. His small 
a’s, ts, andc’s are all alike, and the style of the 
characters generally is French, although the entire 
manuscript has much the appearance of Greek text. 
The paper which he ordinarily uses is of a very fine 
glossy texture, and of a blue tint, with gilt edges. His 
signature is a good specimen of his general hand. 


Aid eee has a 
ke EC ces 


Mrs. SIGOURNEY seems to take much pains with 
her manuscripts. Apparently she employs d/ack lines. 
Every ¢ is crossed, and every z dotted, with precision, 
while the punctuation is faultless. Yet the whole has 
nothing of effeminacy or formality. The individual 
characters are large, well and freely formed, and pre- 


194 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


serve a perfect uniformity throughout. Something in 
her handwriting puts us in mind of Mr. Paulding’s. 
In both manuscripts, perfect regularity exists, and in 
both the style is formed or decided. Both are beautiful, 
yet Mrs. Sigourney’s is the most legible, and Mr. 
Paulding’s nearly the most illegible, in the world. 
From that of Mrs. Sigourney we might easily form a 
true estimate of her compositions. Freedom, dignity, 
precision, and grace, without originality, may be prop- 
erly attributed to her. She has fine taste, without 
genius. Her paper is usually good, the seal small, 
of green and gold wax, and without impression. 


a, f a a 


Mr. WALSH’s manuscript is peculiar, from its 
large, sprawling, and irregular appearance — rather 
rotund than angular. It always seems to have been 
hurriedly written. The 7’s are crossed with a sweep- 
ing scratch of the pen, which gives to his epistles a 
somewhat droll appearance. A dictatorial air per- 
vades the whole. His paper is of ordinary quality. 
His seal is commonly of brown wax mingled with 
gold, and bears a Latin motto, of which only the 
words ¢rans and mortuus are legible. 

Mr. Walsh cannot be denied talent, but his repu- 
tation, which has been bolstered into being by a 
clique, is not a thing to live. A blustering self-con- 
ceit betrays itself in his chirography, which upon 
the whole is not very dissimilar to that of Mr. E. 
Everett, of whom we shall speak hereafter. 


195 


MISCELLANIES 





Mr. INGRAHAM, or Ingrahame (for he writes his 
name sometimes with and sometimes without the ¢), 
is one of our most Jopudar novelists, if not one of our 
best. He appeals always to the taste of the ultra- 
romanticists (as a matter, we believe, rather of 
pecuniary policy than of choice), and thus is ob- 
noxious to the charge of a certain cut-and-thrust, 
blue-fire melodramaticism. Still, he is capable of 
better things. His chirography is very unequal, at 
times sufficiently clear and flowing, at others shock- 
ingly scratchy and uncouth. From it nothing what- 
ever can be predicated except an uneasy vacillation of 
temper and of purpose. 


PGs 


Mr. BRYANT’S manuscript puts us entirely at fault. 
It is one of the most commonplace clerk’s hands 
which we ever encountered, and has no character 
about it beyond that of the day-book and ledger. He 
writes, in short, what mercantile men and professional 
penmen call a fair hand, but what artists would term 
an abominable one. Among its regular up-and-down 
strokes, waving lines and hair-lines, systematic taper- 
ings and flourishes, we look in vain for the force, 
polish, and decision of the poet. The fzcturesgue, to 
be sure, is equally deficient in his chirography and in 
his poetical productions. 

196. 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Ch. Gaol 





Mr. HALLECK’s hand is strikingly indicative of his 
genius. Wesee in it some force, more grace, and 
little of the picturesque. There is a great deal of 
freedom about it, and his manuscripts seem to be 
written currente calamo, but without hurry. His 
flourishes, which are not many, look as if thoughtfully 
planned, and deliberately yet firmly executed. His 
paper is very good, and of a bluish tint; his seal of 
red wax. 


Ft -IDP Ark, 


Mr. WILLIS when writing carefully would write a 
hand nearly resembling that of Mr. Halleck, although 
no similarity is perceptible in the signatures. His 
usual chirography is dashing, free, and not ungraceful, 
but is sadly deficient in force and picturesqueness. 
It has been the fate of this gentleman to be alter- 
nately condemned ad infinitum and lauded ad nauseam, 
a fact which speaks much in his praise. We know of 
no American writer who has evinced greater versa- 
tility of talent, that is to say, of high talent, often 
amounting to genius, and we know of none who has 
more narrowly missed placing himself at the head of 
our letters. 


197 


MISCELLANIES 


The paper of Mr. Willis’ epistles is always fine and 
glossy. At present he employs a somewhat large seal, 
with a dove or carrier-pigeon at the top, the word 
‘“‘Glenmary ” at bottom, and the initials ““N. P. W.” 
in the middle. 


Scfees Boeves) 


Mr. DaAwEs has been long known as a poet, but his 
claims are scarcely yet settled, his friends giving him 
rank with Bryant and Halleck, while his opponents 
treat his pretensions with contempt. The truth is 
that the author of “Geraldine” and “ Athenia of 
Damascus ” has written occasional verses very well — 
so well that some of his minor pieces may be con- 
sidered equal to any of the minor pieces of either of 
the two gentlemen above mentioned. His longer 
poems, however, will not bear examination. ‘ Athenia 
of Damascus ” is pompous nonsense, and “ Geraldine ”’ 
a most ridiculous imitation of “ Don Juan,’ in which 
the beauties of the original have been as sedulously 
avoided as the blemishes have been blunderingly 
culled. In style he is perhaps the most inflated, in- 
volved, and falsely figurative, of any of our more 
noted poets. This defect of course is only fully ap- 
preciable in what are termed his “sustained efforts,” 
and thus his shorter pieces are often exceedingly 
good. His apparent erudition is mere verbiage, and 
were it real would be lamentably out of place where 
we see it. He seems to have been infected with a 
blind admiration of Coleridge, especially of his 
mysticism and cant. 

198 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Heung WW, Leena Minw 


H. W. LoNGFELLOw (Professor of Moral Philoso- 
phy at Harvard) is entitled to the first place among 
the poets of America —certainly to the first place 
among those who have put themselves prominently 
forth as poets. His good qualities are all of the high- 
est order, while his sins are chiefly those of affecta- 
tion and imitation — an imitation sometimes verging 
upon downright theft. 

His manuscript is remarkably good, and is fairly 
exemplified in the signature. We see here plain 
indications of the force, vigor, and glowing richness 
of his literary style; the deliberate and steady fixzsh 
of his compositions. The man who writes thus 
may not accomplish much, but what he does will 
always be thoroughly done. The main beauty, or at 
least one great beauty of his poetry, is that of 
proportion, another is a freedom from extraneous 
embellishment. He oftener runs into affectation 
through his endeavors at simplicity than through any 
other cause. Now this rigid simplicity and propor- 
tion are easily perceptible in the manuscript which, 
altogether, is a very excellent one. 


The Rev. J. PIERPONT, who of late has attracted 
so much of the public attention, is one of the most 
accomplished poets in America. His “ Airs of Pales- 
tine” is distinguished by the sweetness and vigor 
of its versification, and by the grace of its sentiments. 
Some of its shorter pieces are exceedingly terse and 


199 


MISCELLANIES 


forcible, and none of our readers can have forgotten 
his “ Lines on Napoleon.” His rhythm is at least 
equal in strength and modulation to that of any poet 
in America. Here he resembles Milman and Croly. 


His chirography, nevertheless, indicates nothing 
beyond the commonplace. It is an ordinary clerk’s 
hand — one which is met with more frequently than 
any other. It is decidedly formed; and we have 
no doubt that he ever writes otherwise than thus. 
The manuscript of his school-days has probably been 
persisted in to the last. If so, the fact is in full 
consonance with the steady precision of his style. 
The flourish at the end of the signature is but a 
part of the writer’s general enthusiasm. 


ee 


Mr. Simms is the author of “ Martin Faber,” 

“ Atalantis,” “Guy Rivers,” “ The Partisan,” “ Melli- 

champe,” “ The Yemassee,” “* The Damsel of Darien,” 

‘The Black Riders of the Congaree,”’ and one or two 
200 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


other productions, among which we must not forget 
to mention several fine poems. As a poet, indeed, 
we like him far better than as a novelist. His quali- 
ties in this latter respect resemble those of Mr. 
Kennedy, although he equals him in no particular, ex- 
cept in his appreciation of.the graceful. In his sense 
of beauty he is Mr. Kennedy’s superior, but falls be- 
hind him. in force, and the other attributes of the 
author of “Swallow Barn.” These differences and 
resemblances are well shown in the manuscripts. That 
of Mr. Simms has more slope, and more uniformity 
in detail, with less in the mass —while it has also 
less of the picturesque, although still much. The 
middle name is Gilmore; in the cut it looks like 
Gilmere. 


ee Ago tl. 


The Rev. OresTES A. BRownson is chiefly 
known to the literary world as the editor of the 
“ Boston Quarterly Review,” a work to which he 
contributes, each quarter, at least two-thirds of the 
matter. He has published little in book form — his 
principal works being “ Charles Elwood” and “ New 
Views.” Of these, the former production is, in many 
respects, one of the highest merit. In logical accu- 
racy, in comprehensiveness of thought, and in the 
evident frankness and desire for truth in which it 
is composed, we know of few theological treatises 
which can be compared with it. Its conclusion, how- 
ever, bears about it a species of hesitation and incon- 
sequence which betray the fact that the writer has 
not altogether succeeded in convincing himself of 

201 


MISCELLANIES 


those important truths which he is so anxious to 
impress upon his readers. We must bear in mind, 
however, that this is the fault of Mr. Brownson’s 
subject, and not of Mr. Brownson. However well 
a man may reason on the great topics of God and 
immortality, he will be forced to admit tacitly, in 
the end, that God and immortality are things to 
be felt, rather than demonstrated. 

On subjects less indefinite, Mr. Brownson reasons 
with the calm and convincing force of a Combe. He 
is, in every respect, an extraordinary man, and, with 
the more extensive resources which would have been 
afforded him by early education, could not have 
failed to bring about important results. 

His manuscript indicates, in the most striking 
manner, the unpretending simplicity, directness, and 
especially the zxdefatigability, of his mental charac- 
ter. His signature is more fezzte than his general 


chirography. 
a 3 ne Ket 


Judge BEVERLY TUCKER, of the College of William 
and Mary, Virginia, is the author of one of the best 
novels ever published in America, “George Bal- 
combe,” although for some reason the book was never 
a popular favorite. It was, perhaps, somewhat too 
didactic for the general taste. 

He has written a great deal also for the “ Southern 
Literary Messenger” at different times; and at one 
period acted in part, if not altogether, as editor of 
that magazine, which is indebted to him for some 
very racy articles, in the way of criticism especially. 

202 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


He is apt, however, to be led away by personal feel- 
ings, and is more given to vituperation for the mere 
sake of point or pungency than is altogether conso- 
nant with his character as judge. Some five years 
ago there appeared in the “ Messenger,” under the 
editorial head, an article on the subject of the “ Pick- 
wick Papers” and some other productions of Mr. 
Dickens. This article, which abounded in well-written 
but extravagant denunciation of everything composed 
by the author of “ The Old Curiosity Shop,” and which 
prophesied his immediate downfall, we have reason 
to believe was from the pen of Judge Beverly Tucker. 
We take this opportunity of mentioning the subject, 
because the odium of the paper in question fell al- 
together upon our shoulders, and it is a burden we 
are not disposed and never intended to bear. The 
review appeared in March, we think, and we had 
retired from the “ Messenger” in the January preced- 
ing. About eighteen months previously, and when 
Mr. Dickens was scarcely known to the public at 
all, except as the author of some brief tales and 
essays, the writer of this article took occasion to 
predict in the “ Messenger,” and in the most em- 
phatic manner, that high and just distinction which 
the author in question has attained. Judge Tucker’s 
manuscript is diminutive, but neat and legible, and 
has much force and precision, with little of the pic- 
turesque. The care which he bestows upon his liter- 
ary compositions makes itself manifest also in his 
chirography. The signature is more florid than the 
general hand. 


Mr. SANDERSON, Professor of the Greek and 
Latin Languages in the High School of Philadelphia, 
203 


MISCELLANIES 


is well known as the author of a series of letters 
entitled ‘‘The American in Paris.’’ ‘These are dis- 
tinguished by ease and vivacity of style, with occa- 
sional profundity of observation, and, above all, by 


Tb So Dame. 


the frequency of their illustrative anecdotes and 
figures. In all these particulars Professor Sanderson 
is the precise counterpart of Judge Beverly Tucker, 
author of “George Balcombe.” The manuscripts 
of the two gentlemen are nearly identical. Both are 
neat, clear, and legible. Mr. Sanderson’s is somewhat 
the more crowded. 


About Miss GouLp’s manuscript there are great 
neatness, picturesqueness, and finish, without over- 
effeminacy. The literary style of one who writes 
thus will always be remarkable for sententiousness 
and epigrammatism; and these are the leading fea- 
tures of Miss Gould’s poetry. 


Professor HENRY, of Bristol College, is chiefly 
known by his contributions to our Quarterlies, and as 
one of the originators of the “ New York Review,” in 
conjunction with Dr. Hawks and Professor Anthon. 
His chirography is now neat and picturesque (much 
resembling that of Judge Tucker), and now exces- 
sively scratchy, clerky, and slovenly —so that it is 

204 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


nearly impossible to say anything respecting it, ex- 
cept that it indicates a vacillating disposition, with 
unsettled ideas of the beautiful. None of his epistles, 
in regard to their chirography, end as well as they 


Cok 


begin. This trait denotes fatigabzlity. His signa- 
ture, which is bold and decided, conveys not the 
faintest idea of the general manuscript. 


Boar boty) 


Mrs. EmBury is chiefly known by her contribu- 
tions to the periodicals of the country. She is one 
of the most nervous of our female writers, and is 
not destitute of originality — that rarest of all quali- 
ties in a woman, and especially in an American 
woman. 

Her manuscript evinces a strong disposition to fly 
off at a tangent from the old formule of the Boarding 
Academies. But in it, and in her literary style, it 
would be well that she should no longer hesitate to 
discard the absurdities of mere fashion. 


pre] gb) 


Miss LESLIE is celebrated for the homely natural- 
ness of her stories and for the broad satire of her 
comic style. She has written much for the maga- 

205 


MISCELLANIES 


zines. Her chirography is distinguished for neat- 
ness and finish, without over-effeminacy. It is 
rotund, and somewhat diminutive; the letters being 
separate, and the words always finished with an 
inward twirl. She is never particular about the 
quality of her paper or the other externals of epis- 
tolary correspondence. From her manuscripts in 
general, we might suppose her solicitous rather about 
the effect of her compositions as a whole, than 
about the polishing of the constituent parts. There 
is much of the picturesque both in her chirography 
and in her literary style. 


Gan A flan 


Mr. Neal has acquired a very extensive reputation 
through his “ Charcoal Sketches,” a series of papers 
originally written for the “Saturday News” of this 
city, and afterward published in book form, with 
illustrations by Johnston. The whole design of the 
“Charcoal Sketches” may be stated as the depict- 
ing of the wharf and street loafer; but this design 
has been executed altogether in caricature. The 
extreme of burlesque runs throughout the work, 
which is also chargeable with a tedious repetition 
of slang and incident. The loafer always declaims the 
same nonsense in the same style, gets drunk in 
the same way, and is taken to the watch-house after 
the same fashion. Reading one chapter of the book 
we read all. Any single description would have 
been an original idea well executed, but the dose 
is repeated ad nauseam, and betrays a woful poverty 

206 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


of invention. The manner in which Mr. Neal’s book 
was belauded by his personal friends of the Phila- 
delphia press speaks little for their independence, 
or less for their taste. To dub the author of these 
“ Charcoal Sketches” (which are really very excel- 
lent police reports) with the title of “the American 
Boz,” is either outrageous nonsense or malevolent 
irony. 

In other respects, Mr. Neal has evinced talents 
which cannot be questioned. He has conducted the 
“ Pennsylvanian ” with credit, and, as a political writer, 
he stands deservedly high. His manuscript is simple 
and legible, with much space between the words. 
It has force, but little grace. Altogether, his chi- 
rography is good; but as he belongs to the editorial 
corps, it would not be just to suppose that any deduc- 
tions in respect to character could be gleaned from 
it. His signature conveys the general manuscript 
with accuracy. 


ee on Sark 


Mr. SEBA SMITH has become somewhat widely 
celebrated as the author, in part, of the “Letters of 
Major Jack Downing.” These were very clever pro- 
ductions; coarse, but full of fun, wit, sarcasm, and 
sense. Their manner rendered them exceedingly pop- 
ular, until their success tempted into the field a host 
of brainless imitators. Mr. Smith is also the author of 
several poems; among others, of “ Powhatan, a Met- 
rical Romance,” which we do not very particularly 
admire. His manuscript is legible, and has much 
simplicity about it. At times it vacillates, and appears 

207 


MISCELLANIES 


unformed. Upon the whole, it is much such a manu- 
script as David Crockett wrote, and precisely such a 
one as we might imagine would be written by a verz- 
table Jack Downing — by Jack Downing himself, had 
this creature of Mr. Smith’s fancy been endowed with 
a real entity. The fact is that “ The Major” is not 
alla creation; at least one-half of his character actu- 
ally exists in the bosom of his originator. It was the 
Jack Downing half that composed “ Powhatan.” 


Mb tenho Kick tts" 


Lieutenant SLIDELL some years ago took the addi- 
tional name of Mackenzie. His reputation at one 
period was extravagantly high —a circumstance ow- 
ing, in some measure, to the esfrit de corps of the 
navy, of which he is a member, and to his private in- 
fluence, through his family, with the review cliques. 
Yet his fame was not altogether undeserved ; although 
it cannot be denied that his first book, “ A Year in 
Spain,” was in some danger of being overlooked by his 
countrymen, until a benignant star directed the atten- 
tion of the London bookseller, Murray, to its merits. 
Cockney octavos prevailed; and the clever young 
writer, who was cut dead in his Yankee habiliments, 
met with bows innumerable in the gala dress of an 
English zzprimatur. The work now ran through sev- 
eral editions, and prepared the public for the kind re- 
ception of “The American in England,” which exalted 
his reputation to its highest pinnacle. Both these 
books abound in racy descriptions, but are chiefly re- 
markable for their gross deficiencies in grammatical 
construction. 

208 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Lieutenant Slidell’s manuscript is peculiarly neat 
and even — quite legible, but altogether too fetzte and 
effeminate. Few tokens of his literary character are 
to be found beyond the etzteness, which is exactly 
analogous with the minute detail of his descriptions. 


FRANCIS LIEBER is Professor of History and Po- 
litical Economy in the College of South Carolina, and 
has published many works distinguished by acumen 
and erudition. Among these we may notice a “ Jour- 
nal of a Residence in Greece,” written at the instiga- 
tion of the historian Niebuhr; “The Stranger in 
America,” a piquant book abounding in various infor- 
mation relative to the United States; a treatise on 
“ Education ;” “ Reminiscences of an Intercourse with 
Niebuhr;” and an “Essay on International Copy- 
right,” —this last a valuable work. 

Professor Lieber’s personal character is that of the 
frankest and most unpretending doxhomie, while his 
erudition is rather massive than minute. We may 
therefore expect his manuscript to differ widely from 
that of his brother scholar, Professor Anthon; and 
so in truth it does. His chirography is careless, heavy, 
black, and forcible, without the slightest attempt at 
ornament —very similar, upon the whole, to the well- 
known chirography of Chief-Justice Marshall. His 
letters have the peculiarity of a wide margin left at 
the top of each page. 


Mrs. HALE is well known for her masculine style 
of thought. This is clearly expressed in her chirog- 
VOL. IX. — 14 209 


MISCELLANIES 


raphy, which is far larger, heavier, and altogether 
bolder, than that of her sex generally. It resembles 
in a great degree that of Professor Lieber, and is not 
easily deciphered. 


Cimd Coe 


Mr. EVERETT’S manuscript is a noble one. It has 
about it an air of deliberate precision emblematic of 
the statesman, and a mingled grace and solidity be- 
tokening the scholar. Nothing can be more legible, 
and nothing need be more uniform. The man who 
writes thus will never grossly err in judgment or other- 
wise; but we may also venture to say that he will 
never attain the loftiest pinnacle of renown. The 
letters before us have a seal of red wax, with an oval 
device bearing the initials E. E. and surrounded with 
a scroll, inscribed with some Latin words which are 
illegible. 


Gort LAD 


‘ Dr. BrrpD is well known as the author of “ The 

Gladiator,” “ Calavar,” “‘ The Infidel,” “ Nick of the 

Woods,” and some other works, — “ Calavar” being, 
210 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


we think, by far the best of them, and beyond doubt 
one of the best of American novels. 

His chirography resembles that of Mr. Benjamin 
very closely, the chief difference being in a curl of 
the final letters in Dr. Bird’s. The characters, too, 
have the air of not being able to keep pace with the 
thought, and an uneasy want of finish seems to have 
been the consequence. A vivid imagination might 
easily be deduced from such a manuscript. 


es SC 

Mr. JoHN NEAL’s manuscript is exceedingly illegi- 
ble and careless. Many of his epistles are perfect 
enigmas, and we doubt whether he could read them 
himself in half an hour after they are penned. Some- 
times four or five words are run together. Any one, 
from Mr. Neal’s penmanship, might suppose his mind 
to be what it really is — excessively flighty and irreg- 
ular, but active and energetic. 


CLAS te 22 0Z——— 


The penmanship of Miss SEDGWICK is excellent. 
The characters are well-sized, distinct, elegantly but 
not ostentatiously formed, and, with perfect freedom 
of manner, are still sufficiently feminine. The hair- 
strokes differ little from the downward ones, and the 
manuscripts have thus a uniformity they might not 

211 


MISCELLANIES 


otherwise have. The paper she generally uses is 
good, blue, and machine-ruled. Miss Sedgwick’s 
handwriting points unequivocally to the traits of her 
literary style, which are strong common-sense and a 
masculine disdain of mere ornament. The signature 
conveys the general chirography. 


Mr. COoPER’sS manuscript is very bad — unformed, 
‘with little of distinctive character about it, and 
varying greatly in different epistles. In most of those 
before us a steel pen has been employed, the lines 
are crooked, and the whole chirography has a con- 
strained and school-boyish air. The paper is fine, 
and of a bluish tint. A wafer is always used. With- 
out appearing ill-natured, we could scarcely draw any 
inferences from such a manuscript. Mr. Cooper has 
seen many vicissitudes, and it is probable that he has 
not always written thus. Whatever are his faults, his 
genius cannot be doubted. 


f, a Ma ushy 


Dr. HAWKS is one of the originators of the “ New 
York Review,” to which journal he has furnished 
many articles. He is also known as the author of 
the “History of the Episcopal Church of Virginia,” 
and one or two minor works. He now edits the 
“Church Record.” His style, both as a writer and as 
a preacher, is characterized rather by a perfect fluency 

212 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


than by any more lofty quality, and this trait is 
strikingly indicated in his chirography, of which the 
signature is a fair specimen. 


This gentleman is the author of “ Cromwell,” “The 
Brothers,” ‘ Ringwood, the Rover,” and some other 
minor productions. He at one time edited the “ Amer- 
ican Monthly Magazine” in connection with Mr. 
Hoffman. In his compositions for the magazines, 
Mr. HERBERT is in the habit of doing both them and 
himself gross injustice by neglect and hurry. His 
longer works evince much ability, although he is 
rarely entitled to be called original. His manuscript 
is exceedingly neat, clear, and forcible, the signature 
affording a just idea of it. It resembles that of Mr. 
Kennedy very nearly; but has more slope and uni- 
formity, with, of course, less spirit, and less of the 
picturesque. He who writes as Mr. Herbert will be 
found always to depend chiefly upon his merits of 
style for a literary reputation, and will not be unapt 
to fall into a pompous grandiloquence. The author 
of “Cromwell” is sometimes wofully turgid. 


Professor PALFREY is known to the public princi- 
pally through his editorship of the ‘“ North American 
Review.” He hasa reputation for scholarship; and 
many of the articles which are attributed to his pen 
evince that this reputation is well based, so far as the 
common notion of scholarship extends. For the rest, 
he seems to dwell altogether within the narrow world 

213 


MISCELLANIES 


of his ow conceptions ; imprisoning them by the very 
barrier which he has erected against the conceptions 


of others. 


His manuscript shows a total deficiency in the sense 
of the beautiful. It has great pretension, great strain- 
ing after effect, but is altogether one of the most 
miserable manuscripts in the world — forceless, grace- 
less, tawdry, vacillating, and unpicturesque. The 
signature conveys but a faint idea of its extravagance. 
However much we may admire the mere £xowledge 
of the man who writes thus, it will not do to place any 
dependence upon his wisdom or upon his taste. 


Lillors, 


F. W. THomaAs, who began his literary career at 
the early age of seventeen, by a poetical lampoon upon 
certain Baltimore fops, has since more particularly 
distinguished himself as a novelist. His “Clinton 
Bradshawe” is perhaps better known than any of his 
later fictions. It is remarkable for a frank, unscru- 
pulous portraiture of men and things, in high life and 


214 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


fow, and by unusual discrimination and observation in 
respect to character. Since its publication he has 
produced “East and West” and “ Howard Pinckney,” 
neither of which seems to have been so popular as his 
first essay, although both have merit. 

“ Fast and West,” published in 1836, was an attempt 
to portray the every-day events occurring to a fallen 
family emigrating from the East to the West. In it, 
as in “Clinton Bradshawe,” most of the characters 
are drawn from life. “Howard Pinckney” was 
published in 1840. 

Mr. Thomas was at one period the editor of the 
Cincinnati “Commercial Advertiser.” He is also 
well known as a public lecturer on a variety of topics. 
His conversational powers are very great. As a poet, 
he has also distinguished himself. His “ Emigrant” 
will be read with pleasure by every person of taste. 

His manuscript is more like that of Mr. Benjamin 
than that of any other literary person of our acquain- 
tance. It has even more than the occasional nervous- 
ness of Mr. Benjamin’s, and, as in the case of the 
editor of the “ New World,” indicates the passionate 
sensibility of the man. 





Mr. Morris ranks, we believe, as the first of our 
Philadelphia poets since the death of Willis Gaylord 
Clark. His compositions, like those of his late la- 

215 


MISCELLANIES 


mented friend, are characterized by sweetness rather 
than strength of versification, and by tenderness and 
delicacy rather than by vigor or originality of thought. 
A late notice of him in the ‘“ Boston Notion,” from 
the pen of Rufus W. Griswold, did his high qualities 
no more than justice. As a prose writer, he is chiefly 
known by his editorial contributions to the Philadel- 
phia “Inquirer,” and by occasional essays for the 
magazines. 

His chirography is usually very illegible, although 
at times sufficiently distinct. It has no marked char- 
_ acteristics, and like that of almost every editor in the 
country, has been so modified by the circumstances of 
his position as to afford no certain indication of the 
mental features. 





EzrA HOLDEN has written much, not only for his 
paper, the “Saturday Courier,” but for our periodicals 
generally, and stands high in the public estimation, as 
a sound thinker, and still more particularly as a fear- 
less expresser of his thoughts. 

His manuscript (which we are constrained to say is 
a shockingly bad one, and whose general features may 
be seen in his signature) indicates the frank and 
naive manner of his literary style — a style which not 
unfrequently flies off into whimsicalities. 

216 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Ge. 6 Geol a 


Mr. GRAHAM is known to the literary world as the 
editor and proprietor of “ Graham’s Magazine,” the 
most popular periodical in America, and also of the 
“Saturday Evening Post,” of Philadelphia. For 
both of these journals he has written much and well. 

His manuscript generally is very bad, or at least 
very illegible. At times it is sufficiently distinct, and 
has force and picturesqueness, speaking plainly of the 
energy which particularly distinguishes him as a man. 
The signature above is more scratchy than usual. 


Colonel STONE, the editor of the New York “ Com- 
mercial Advertiser,” is remarkable for the great differ- 
ence which exists between the apparent public opinion 
respecting his abilities and the real estimation in 
which he is privately held. Through his paper, and 
the bustling activity always prone to thrust itself for- 
ward, he has attained an unusual degree of influence 
in New York, and, not only this, but what appears to 
be a reputation for talent. But this talent we do not 
remember ever to have heard assigned him by any 
honest man’s private opinion. We place him among 
our literati because he has published certain books. 
Perhaps the best of these are his “ Life of Brandt,” 
and “ Life and Times of Red Jacket.” Of the rest, 

217 


MISCELLANIES 


his story called “Ups and Downs,” his defence of 
Animal Magnetism, and his pamphlets concerning 
Maria Monk, are scarcely the most absurd. His 
manuscript is heavy and sprawling, resembling his 
mental character in a species of utter unmeaningness, 
which lies, like the nightmare, upon his autograph. 





The labors of Mr. SPARKS, Professor of History at 
Harvard, are well known and justly appreciated. His 
manuscript has an unusually odd appearance. The 
characters are large, round, black, irregular, and per- 
pendicular — the signature, as above, being an excel- 
lent specimen of his chirography in general. In all 
his letters now before us the lines are as close to- 
gether as possible, giving the idea of irretrievable con- 
fusion; still, none of them are illegible upon close 
inspection. Wecan form no guess in regard to any 
mental peculiarities from Mr. Sparks’s manuscript, 
which has been, no doubt, modified by the hurrying 
and intricate nature of his researches. We might 
imagine such epistles as these to have been written in 
extreme haste, by a man exceedingly busy, among 
great piles of books and papers huddled up around 
him, like the chaotic tomes of Magliabecchi. The 
paper used in all our epistles is uncommonly fine. 


The name of H. S. LEGARE is written without an 
accent on the final e, yet is pronounced as if this letter 
were accented, — Legaray. He contributed many 

218 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


articles of merit to the ‘Southern Review,” and has 
a wide reputation for scholarship and talent. His 
manuscript resembles that of Mr. Palfrey of the 
“ North American Review,” and their mental features 
appear to us nearly identical. What we have said in 
regard to the chirography of Mr. Palfrey will apply 
with equal force to that of the present secretary. 





Mr. GEORGE Lunt, of Newburyport, Massachusetts, 
is known as a poet of much vigor of style and mas- 
siveness of thought. He delights in the grand rather 
than in the beautiful, and is not unfrequently turgid, 
but never feeble. The traits here described impress 
themselves with remarkable distinctness upon his chi- 
rography, of which the signature gives a perfect idea. 


deli hate 


Mr. CHANDLER’S reputation as the editor of one 
of the best daily papers in the country, and as one of 


219 


MISCELLANIES 


our finest belles-lettres scholars, is deservedly high. 
He is well known through his numerous addresses, 
essays, miscellaneous sketches, and prose tales. Some 
of these latter evince imaginative powers of a supe- 
rior order. 

His manuscript is not fairly shown in his signature, 
the latter being much more open and bold than his 
general chirography. His handwriting must be in- 
cluded in the editorial category ; it seems to have been 
ruined by habitual hurry. 


Hi, 7 Lito 


H. T. TUCKERMAN has written one or two books 
consisting of “Sketches of Travels.” His “ Isabel” 
is, perhaps, better known than any of his other pro- 
ductions, but was never a popular work. He is a 
correct writer so far as mere English is concerned, 
but an insufferably tedious and dull one. He has 
contributed much of late days to the “ Southern Liter- 
ary Messenger,” with which journal, perhaps, the legi- 
bility of his manuscript has been an important, if not 
the principal, recommendation. His chirography is 
neat and distinct, and has some grace, but no force 
—evincing, in a remarkable degree, the idiosyncra- 
sies of the writer. 


Mr. GoDEy is only known to the literary world as 
editor and publisher of the “ Lady’s Book,” but his 
celebrity in this regard entitles him to a place in this 
collection. His manuscript is remarkably distinct 
' and graceful—the signature affording an excellent 
220 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


OF Wales: 


idea of it. The man, who invariably writes so well 
as Mr. Godey invariably does, gives evidence of a fine 
taste, combined with an indefatigability which will 
insure his permanent success in the world’s affairs. 
No man has warmer friends or fewer enemies. 





Mr. Du SOLLE is well known through his connec- 
tion with the “ Spirit of the Times.” His prose is for- 
cible, and often excellent in other respects. As a 
poet he is entitled to higher consideration. Some of 
his Pindaric pieces are unusually good, and it may be 
doubted if we have a better verszfer in America. 

Accustomed to the daily toil of an editor, he has 
contracted a habit of writing hurriedly, and his manu- 
script varies with the occasion. It is impossible to 
deduce any inferences from it as regards the mental 
character. The signature shows rather how he can 
write than how he does. 


Mr. FRENCH is the author of a “Life of David 
Crockett,” and also of a novel called “ Elkswattawa,” 
221 


MISCELLANIES 


a denunciatory review of which, in the “ Southern Lit- 
erary Messenger” some years ago, deterred him from 
further literary attempts. Should he write again, he 





will probably distinguish himself, for he is unquestion- 
ably a man of talent. We need no better evidence of 
this than his manuscript, which speaks of force, bold- 
ness, and originality. The flourish, however, betrays 
a certain florzdity of taste. 


Spud Ang, 


The author of “ Norman Leslie” and “ The Coun- 
tess Ida” has been more successful as an essayist 
about small matters than as a novelist. ‘ Norman 
Leslie ” is more familiarly remembered as ‘“‘ The Great 
Used Up,” while ‘“ The Countess” made no definite 
impression whatever. Of course we are not to expect 
remarkable features in Mr. FAy’s manuscript. It hasa 
wavering, finicky, and over-delicate air, without preten- 

222 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


sion to either grace or force ; and the description of 
the chirography would answer, without alteration, for 
that of the literary character. Mr. Fay frequently 
employs an amanuensis, who writes a beautiful French 
hand. The one must not be confounded with the 
other. 





Dr. MITCHELL has published several pretty songs 
which have been set to music and become popular. 
He has also given to the world a volume of poems, of 
which the longest was remarkable for an old-fash- 
ioned polish and vigor of versification. His manu- 
script is rather graceful than picturesque or forcible 
— and these words apply equally well to his poetry in 
general. The signature indicates the hand. 


General Morris has composed many songs which 
have taken fast hold upon the popular taste, and 
which are deservedly celebrated. He has caught the 
true ¢ove for these things, and hence his popularity — 
a popularity which his enemies would fain make us 
believe is altogether attributable to his editorial 
influence. The charge is true only in a measure. 
The tone of which we speak is that kind of frank, 
free, hearty sem¢zment (rather than philosophy) which 

223 





MISCELLANIES 


distinguishes Béranger, and which the critics, for 
want of a better term, call zatzonality. 

His manuscript is a simple unornamented hand, 
rather rotund than angular, very legible, forcible, and 
altogether in keeping with his style. 


Pipe te 


Mr. CALVERT was at one time principal editor of 
_ the Baltimore “ American,” and wrote for that journal 
some good paragraphs on the common topics of the 
day. He has also published many translations from 
the German, and one or two original poems — among 
others an imitation of “ Don Juan” called “ Pelayo,” 
which did him no credit. He is essentially a feeble 
and commonplace writer of poetry, although his prose 
compositions have a certain degree of merit. His 
chirography indicates the “ commonplace ” upon which 
we have commented. It is a very usual, scratchy, 
and tapering clerk’s hand —a hand which no man of 
talent ever did or could indite, unless compelled by 
circumstances of more than ordinary force. The sig- 
nature is far better than the general manuscript of 
his epistles. 





Mr. McJILTON is better known from his contribu- 
tions to the journals of the day than from any book- 
224 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


publications. He has much talent, and it is not 
improbable that he will hereafter distinguish himself, 
although as yet he has not composed anything of 
length which, as a whole, can be styled good. His 
manuscript is not unlike that of Dr. Snodgrass, but it 
is somewhat clearer and better. We can predicate 
little respecting it beyond a love of exaggeration and 
dizarrerié. 





Mr. GALLAGHER is chiefly known as a poet. He 
is the author of some of our most popular songs, and 
has written many long pieces of high but unequal 
merit. He has the true spirit, and will rise into a 
just distinction hereafter. His manuscript tallies 
well with our opinion. It is a very fine one — clear, 
bold, decided, and picturesque. The signature above 
does not convey, in full force, the general character 
of his chirography, which is more rotund, and more 
decidedly placed upon the paper. 


et AO 


Mr. DANA ranks among our most eminent poets, 
and he has been the frequent subject of comment in 
VOL. IX. — 15 225 


MISCELLANIES 


our reviews. He has high qualities, undoubtedly, but 
his defects are many and great. 

His manuscript resembles that of Mr. Gallagher 
very nearly, but is somewhat more rolling, and has 
less boldness and decision. The literary traits of the 
two gentlemen are very similar, although Mr. Dana is 
by far the more polished writer, and has a scholar- 
ship which Mr. Gallagher wants. 


fire. 


terete ee EY Cre pa TE TTD 


Mr. MCMICHAEL is well known to the Philadelphia 
public by the number and force of his prose composi- 
tions, but he has seldom been tempted into book-publi- 
cation. Asa poet, he has produced some remarkably 
vigorous things. We have seldom seen a finer com- 
position than a certain celebrated “ Monody.” 

His manuscript when not hurried is graceful and 
flowing, without picturesqueness. At times it is to- 
tally illegible. His chirography is one of those which 
have been so strongly modified by circumstances that 
it is nearly impossible to predicate anything with 
certainty respecting them. 





Mr. N. C. Brooks has acquired some reputation 
as a magazine writer. His serious prose is often very 
good—is always well worded — but in his comic 
attempts he fails, without appearing to be aware of 

226 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


his failure. As a poet he has succeeded far better. 
In a work which he entitled “ Scriptural Anthology,” 
among many inferior compositions of length, there 
were several shorter pieces of great merit; for 
example, “ Shelley’s Obsequies” and “ The Nicthan- 
thes.” Of late days we have seen little from his pen. 

His manuscript has much resemblance to that of 
Mr. Bryant, although altogether it is a better hand, 
with much more freedom and grace. With care Mr. 
Brooks can write a fine manuscript, just as with care 
he can compose a fine poem. 





The Rev. THomas H. STOCKTON has written many 
pieces of fine poetry, and has lately distinguished 
himself as the editor of the “ Christian World.” 

His manuscript is fairly represented by his signa- 
ture, and bears much resemblance to that of Mr. 
N. C. Brooks, of Baltimore. Between these two 
gentlemen there exists also a remarkable similarity, 
not only of thought, but of personal bearing and 
character. We have already spoken of the peculiari- 
ties of Mr. Brooks’s chirography. 


Mr. THOMSON has written many short poems, and 
some of them possess merit. They are characterized 
ph227 


MISCELLANIES 


by tenderness and grace. His manuscript has some 
resemblance to that of Professor Longfellow, and by 
many persons would be thought a finer hand. It is 
clear, legible, and open-— what is called a rolling 
hand. It has too much tapering, and too much varia- 
tion between the weight of the hair-strokes and the 
downward ones, to be forcible or picturesque. In all 
those qualities which we have pointed out as espe- 
cially distinctive of Professor Longfellow’s manuscript 
it is remarkably deficient; and, in fact, the literary 
character of no two individuals could be more radically 
different. 





The Reverend W. E. CHANNING is at the head of 
our moral and didactic writers. His reputation both 
at home and abroad is deservedly high, and in regard 
to the matters of purity, polish, and modulation of 
style, he may be said to have attained the dignity of 
a standard and a classic. He has, it is true, been 
severely criticised, even in respect to these very points, 
by the “Edinburgh Review.” The critic, however, 
made out his case but lamely, and proved nothing 
beyond his own incompetence. To detect occasional 
or even frequent inadvertences in the way of bad 
grammar, faulty construction, or misusage of language, 
is not to prove impurity of sty/e—a word which hap- 
pily has a bolder signification than any dreamed of by 

228 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


the Zoilus of the review in question. Style regards, 
more than anything else, the ¢ome of a composition. 
All the rest is not unimportant, to be sure, but apper- 
tains to the minor morals of literature, and can be 
learned by rote by the meanest simpletons in letters — 
can be carried to its highest excellence by dolts, who, 
upon the whole, are despicable as stylists. Irving’s 
Style is inimitable in its grace and delicacy, yet few 
of our practised writers are guilty of more frequent 
inadvertences of language. In what may be termed 
his mere English, he is surpassed by fifty whom we 
could name. Mr. Tuckerman’s English, on the con- 
trary, is sufficiently pure, but a more lamentable 
style than that of his “ Sicily ” it would be difficult to 
point out. 

Besides those peculiarities which we have already 
mentioned as belonging to Dr. Channing’s style, we 
must not fail to mention a certain calm, broad deliber- 
ateness, which constitutes force in its highest charac- 
ter, and approaches to majesty. All these traits will 
be found to exist plainly in his chirography, the 
character of which is exemplified by the signature, 
although this is somewhat larger than the general 
manuscript. 


————————_—=_——. 


Mr. WILMER has written and published much; 
but he has reaped the usual fruits of a spirit of inde- 
pendence, and has thus failed to make that impression 
on the Zopular mind which his talents, under other 

229 


MISCELLANIES 


circumstances, would have effected. But better days 
are in store for him, and for all who “hold to the 
right way,” despising the yelpings of the small dogs 
of our literature. His prose writings all have merit — 
always the merit of a chastened style. But he is more 
favorably known by his poetry, in which the student of 
the British classics will find much for warm admiration. 
We have few better versifiers than Mr. Wilmer. 

His chirography plainly indicates the cautious polish 
and terseness of his style, but the signature does not 
convey the print-like appearance of the manuscript. 


LZEC-Daower 


Mr. Dow is distinguished as the author of many 
fine sea-pieces, among which will be remembered a 
series of papers called “‘The Log of Old Ironsides.” 
His land sketches are not generally so good. He has 
a fine imagination, which as yet is undisciplined and 
leads him into occasional bombast. As a poet he has 
done better things than as a writer of prose. 

His manuscript, which has been strongly modified 
by circumstances, gives no indication of his true 
character, literary or moral. 


Weslig hit 


Mr. WELD is well known as the present working 
editor of the New York “Tattler” and “ Brother 
230 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Jonathan.” His attention was accidentally directed 
to literature about ten years ago, after a minority, to 
use his own words, “spent at sea, in a store, in a 
machine-shop, and in a printing-office.” He is now, 
we believe, about thirty-one years of age. His de- 
ficiency of what is termed regular education would 
scarcely be gleaned from his editorials, which, in 
general, are usually well written. His “ Corrected 
Proofs” is a work which does him high credit, and 
which has been extensively circulated, although 
“printed at odd times by himself, when he had 
nothing else to do.” 

His manuscript resembles that of Mr. Joseph C. 
Neal in many respects, but is less open and less 
legible. His signature is altogether much better than 
his general chirography. 


wt. Fon Ln, LF. ct 


Mrs. M. St. LEON Loup is one of the finest poets 
of this country; possessing, we think, more of the 
true divine affatus than any of her female contem- 
poraries. She has, in especial, zwagination of no 
common order, and, unlike many of her sex whom 
we could mention, is not 


“Content to dwell in decencies forever.” 


While she cam, upon occasion, compose the ordinary 

metrical sing-song with all the decorous proprieties 

which are in fashion, she yet ventures very fre- 

quently into a more ethereal region. We refer our 

readers to a truly beautiful little poem entitled the 
231 


MISCELLANIES 


“Dream of the Lonely Isle,” lately published in this 
magazine. : 

Mrs. Loud’s manuscript is exceedingly clear, neat, 
and forcible, with just sufficient effeminacy and no 


Dr. PLiIny EARLE, of Frankfort, Pa., has not 
only distinguished himself by several works on med- 
ical and general science, but has become well known 
to the literary world, of late, by a volume of very fine 
poems, the longest, but by no means the best, of 
which was entitled “ Marathon.” This latter is not 
greatly inferior to the “ Marco Bozzaris” of Halleck, 
while some of the minor pieces equal any American 
poems. His chirography is peculiarly neat and 
beautiful, giving indication of the elaborate finish 
which characterizes his compositions. The signature 
conveys the general hand. 


Lod oo Bro 


Davip HoFFMAN, of Baltimore, has not only con- 
tributed much and well to monthly magazines and 
reviews, but has given to the world several valuable 
publications in book form. His style is terse, pun- 
gent, and otherwise excellent, although disfigured by 
a half-comic, half-serious pedantry. 

His manuscript has about it nothing strongly indi- 
cative of character. 

232 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Tae 
De Cann gre 


S. D. LANGTREE has been long and favorably 
known to the public as editor of the “Georgetown 
Metropolitan,” and more lately of the “ Democratic 
Review,” both of which journals he has conducted 
with distinguished success. As a critic he has proved 
himself just, bold, and acute, while his prose compo- 
sitions generally evince the man of talent and taste. 

His manuscript is not remarkably good, being 
somewhat too scratchy and tapering. We include 
him, of course, in the editorial category. 


Judge CONRAD occupies, perhaps, the first place 
among our Philadelphia literati. He has distin- 
guished himself both as a prose writer and a poet 
— not to speak of his high legal reputation. He has 
been a frequent contributor to the periodicals of this 
city, and we believe to one at least of the Eastern 
reviews. His first production which attracted gen- 
eral notice was a tragedy entitled “Conrad, King 
of Naples.” It was performed at the Arch Street 
Theatre, and elicited applause from the more judi- 
cious. This play was succeeded by “Jack Cade,” 
performed at the Walnut Street Theatre, and lately 
modified and reproduced under the title of ‘“‘ Aylmere.” 
In its new dress, this drama has been one of the most 


233 


MISCELLANIES 


successful ever written by an American, not only at- 
tracting crowded houses, but extorting the good word 
of our best critics. In occasional poetry Judge Con- 
rad has also done well. His lines “On a Blind Boy 
Soliciting Charity” have been greatly admired, and 
many of his other pieces evince ability of a high 
order. His political fame is scarcely a topic for 
these pages, and is, moreover, too much a matter 
of common observation to need comment from us. 

His manuscript is neat, legible, and forcible, 
evincing combined caution and spirit in a very 
remarkable degree. 


J. aire Abdons, 


The chirography of Ex-President ADAMS (whose 
poem, “The Wants of Man,” has of late attracted 
so much attention) is remarkable for a certain stead- 
iness of purpose pervading the whole, and over- 
coming even the constitutional tremulousness of the 
writer’s hand. Wavering in every letter, the entire 
manuscript has yet a firm, regular, and decisive 
appearance. It is also very legible. 


ePest 


P. P. CooKE, of Winchester, Virginia, is well 
known, especially in the South, as the author of 
numerous excellent contributions to the “ Southern 
Literary Messenger.” He has written some of the 
finest poetry of which America can boast. A little 


234 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


piece of his, entitled “Florence Vane,” and con- 
tributed to the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of this 
city, during our editorship of that journal, was 
remarkable for the high ideality it evinced, and for 
the great delicacy and melody of its rhythm. It 
was universally admired and copied, as well here 
as in England. We saw it not long ago, as origz- 
nal, in “ Bentley’s Miscellany.” Mr. Cooke has, we 
believe, nearly ready for the press a novel called “ Mau- 
rice Werterbern,’ whose success we predict with 
confidence. 

His manuscript is clear, forcible, and legible, but 
disfigured by some of that affectation which is 
scarcely a blemish in his literary style. 


Mr. J. BEAUCHAMP JONES has been, we believe, 
connected for many years past with the lighter litera- 
ture of Baltimore, and at present edits the Baltimore 
“Saturday Visiter” with much judgment and general 
ability. He is the author of a series of papers of high 
merit, now in course of publication in the “ Visiter,” 
and entitled “ Wild Western Scenes.” 

His manuscript is distinct, and might be termed a 
fine one; but is somewhat too much in consonance 
with the ordinary clerk style to be either graceful or 
forcible. 


Mr. BurTON is better known as a comedian than 
as a literary man, but he has written many short prose 
articles of merit, and his quondam editorship of the 
“ Gentleman’s Magazine” would, at all events, entitle 


235 


MISCELLANIES 


him to a place in this collection. He has, moreover, 
published one or two books. An annual issued by 
Carey and Hart in 1840 consisted entirely of prose 
contributions from himself, with poetical ones from 
Charles West Thomson, Esq. In this work many 
of the tales were good. 

Mr. Burton’s manuscript is scratchy and efzte, 
betokening indecision and care or caution. 


RICHARD HENRY WILDE, of Georgia, has acquired 
much reputation as a poet, and especially as the 
author of a little piece entitled ‘“‘ My Life is Like the 
Summer Rose,” whose claim to originality has been 
made the subject of repeated and reiterated attack 
and defence. Upon the whole it is hardly worth 
quarrelling about. Far better verses are to be found 
in every second newspaper we take up. Mr. Wilde 
has also lately published, or is about to publish, a 
life of Tasso, for which he has been long collecting 
material. 

His manuscript has all the peculiar sprawling and 
elaborate tastelessness of Mr. Palfrey’s, to which 
altogether it bears a marked resemblance. The love 

236 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


of effect, however, is more perceptible in Mr. Wilde’s 
than even in Mr. Palfrey’s. 


Bs 


Lewis Cass, the Ex-Secretary of War, has distin- 
guished himself as one of the finest belles-lettres 
scholars of America. At one period he was a very 
regular contributor to the “Southern Literary Mes- 
senger,” and even lately he has furnished that journal 
with one or two very excellent papers. 

His manuscript is clear, deliberate, and statesman- 
like, resembling that of Edward Everett very closely. 
It is not often that we see a letter written altogether 
by himself. He generally employs an amanuensis, 
whose chirography does not differ materially from his 
own, but is somewhat more regular. 


err Crore 


JAMES BROOKS, Esq., enjoys rather a private than 
a public literary reputation; but his talents are un- 
questionably great, and his productions have been 
numerous and excellent. As the author of many of 
the celebrated “ Jack Downing” letters, and as the 
reputed author of the whole of them, he would at all 
events be entitled to a place among our literati. 

His chirography is simple, clear, and legible, with 
little grace and less boldness. ‘These traits are pre- 
cisely those of his literary style. 


237 


MISCELLANIES 


As the authorship of the “Jack Downing ” letters 
is even still considered by many a moot point (although 
in fact there should be no question about it), and as 
we have already given the signature of Mr. Seba 
Smith, and (just above) of Mr. Brooks, we now pre- 
sent our readers with a fac-simile signature of the 
“veritable Jack” himself, written by him individually 
in our own bodily presence. Here, then, is an oppor- 
tunity of comparison. 

The chirography of “the veritable Jack” is a very 
good, honest, sensible hand, and not very dissimilar to 
that of Ex-President Adams. 


PRebaoslC. 


Mr. J. R. LowELt, of Massachusetts, is entitled, in 
our opinion, to at least the second or third place 
among the poets of America. We say this on ac- 
count of the vigor of his z#agination — a faculty to 
be first considered in all criticism upon poetry. In 
this respect he surpasses, we think, any of our writers 
(at least any of those who have put themselves promi- 
nently forth as poets) with the exception of Long- 
fellow, and perhaps one other. His ear for rhythm, 
nevertheless, is imperfect, and he is very far from 
possessing the artistic ability of either Longfellow, 
Bryant, Halleck, Sprague, or Pierpont. The reader 
desirous of properly estimating the powers of Mr. 

238 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Lowell will find a very beautiful little poem from his 
pen in the October number of this magazine. There 
is one also (not quite so fine) in the number for last 
month. He will contribute regularly. 

His manuscript is strongly indicative of the vigor 
and precision of his poetical thought. The man who 
writes thus, for example, will never be guilty of meta- 
phorical extravagance, and there will be found /erse- 
ness aS well as strength in all that he does. 





Mr. L. J. Cist, of Cincinnati, has not written much 
prose, and is known especially by his poetical compo- 
sitions, many of which have been very popular, 
although they are at times disfigured by false meta- 
phor, and by a meretricious straining after effect. 
This latter foible makes itself clearly apparent in his 
chirography, which abounds in ornamental flourishes, 
not ill executed, to be sure, but in very bad taste. 


Mr. ARTHUR is not without a rich talent for descrip- 
tion of scenes in low life, but is uneducated, and too 
fond of mere vulgarities to please a refined taste. He 
has published “ The Subordinate,” and “ Insubordina- 


239 


MISCELLANIES 


9 


tion,” two tales distinguished by the peculiarities 
above mentioned. He has also written much for our 
weekly papers and the “ Lady’s Book.” 

His hand is a commonplace clerk’s hand, such as 
we might expect him to write. The signature is much 
better than the general manuscript. 


Mr. HEATH is almost the only person of any literary 
distinction residing in the chief city of the Old 
Dominion. He edited the “Southern Literary Mes- 
senger” in the five or six first months of its existence; 
and, since the secession of the writer of this article, 
has frequently aided in its editorial conduct. He is 
the author of “ Edge-Hill,” a well-written novel, which, 
owing to the circumstances of its publication, did not 
meet with the reception it deserved. His writings are 


rather polished and graceful than forcible or original, 
and these peculiarities can be traced in his chirog- 


raphy. 


Dr. THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS, of New York, is at 
the same time one of the best and one of the worst 
poets in America. His productions affect one as a 
wild dream — strange, incongruous, full of images of 
more than arabesque monstrosity, and snatches of 
sweet unsustained song. Even his worst nonsense 

240 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


(and some of it is horrible) has an indefinite charm of 
sentiment and melody. We can never be sure that 
there is amy meaning in his words — neither is there 
any meaning in many of our finest musical airs — but 
the effect is very similar in both. His figures of 
speech are metaphor run mad, and his grammar is 
often none at all. Yet there are as fine individual 
passages to be found in the poems of Dr. Chivers as 
in those of any poet whatsoever. 

His manuscript resembles that of P. P. Cooke very 
nearly, and in poetical character the two gentlemen 
are closely akin. Mr. Cooke is, by much, the more 
correct, while Dr. Chivers is sometimes the more 
poetic. Mr. Cooke always sustains himself; Dr. 
Chivers never. 


Judge Story and his various literary and political 
labors are too well known to require comment. 

His chirography is a noble one — bold, clear, mas- 
sive, and deliberate, betokening in the most unequi- 
vocal manner all the characteristics of his intellect. 
The plain, unornamented style of his compositions is 
impressed with accuracy upon his handwriting, the 
whole air of which is well conveyed in the signature. 


V 


Joun Frost, Esgq., Professor of Belles-Lettres in the 
High School of Philadelphia, and at present editor of 
VOL. 1X. — 16 241 


MISCELLANIES 


the “‘ Young People’s Book,” has distinguished himself 
by numerous literary compositions for the periodicals 
of the day, and by a great number of published works 
which come under the head of the w¢z/e rather than 
that of the du/ce — at least in the estimation of the 
young. He isa gentleman of fine taste, sound scholar- 
ship, and great general ability. 

His chirography denotes his mental idiosyncrasy 
with great precision. Its careful neatness, legibility, 
and finish are but a part of that turn of mind which 
leads him so frequently into compilation. The signa- 
ture here given is more diminutive than usual. 


Vigo ee 


Mr. J. F. Otts is well known as a writer for the 
magazines; and has, at various times, been connected 
with many of the leading newspapers of the day — 
especially with those in New York and Washington. 
His prose and poetry are equally good; but he writes 
too much and too hurriedly to write invariably well. 
His taste is fine, and his judgment in literary matters is 
to be depended upon at all times when not interfered 
with by his personal antipathies or predilections. 

His chirography is exceedingly illegible, and, like 
his style, has every possible fault except that of the 
commonplace. 


Mr. REYNOLDS occupied at one time a distinguished 
position in the eye of the public, on account of his 
great and laudable exertions to get up the American 
South Polar expedition, from a personal participation 

242 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


LY hn 


in which he was most shamefully excluded. He has 
written much and well. Among other works, the public 
are indebted to him fora graphic account of the noted 
voyage of the frigate ‘ Potomac ” to Madagascar. 

His manuscript is an ordinary clerk’s hand, giving 
no indication of character. 


004609 Feu Pca 


DAVID PAUL Brow is scarcely more distinguished 
in his legal capacity than by his literary compositions. 
As a dramatic writer he has met with much success. 
His “Sertorius ” has been particularly well received 
both upon the stage and in the closet. His fugitive 
productions, both in prose and verse, have also been 
numerous, diversified, and excellent. 

His chirography has no doubt been strongly modi- 
fied by the circumstances of his position. No one can 
expect a lawyer in full practice to give in his manu- 
script any true indication of his intellect or character. 


©. low Vindienavn 


Mrs. E. CLEMENTINE STEDMAN has lately attracted 
much attention by the delicacy and grace of her poet- 
ical compositions, as well as by the piquancy and 

243 


MISCELLANIES 


spirit of her prose. For some months past we have 
been proud to rank her among the best of the con- 
tributors to ‘“Graham’s Magazine.” 

Her chirography differs as materially from that of 
her sex.in general as does her literary manner from 
the usual namby-pamby of our blue-stockings. It is 
indeed a beautiful manuscript, very closely resembling 
that of Professor Longfellow, but somewhat more 
diminutive, and far more full of grace. 


J. GREENLEAF WHITTIER is placed by his particu- 
lar admirers in the very front rank of American poets. 
We are not disposed, however, to agree with their 
decision in every respect. Mr. Whittier is a fine ver- 
sifier, so far as strength is regarded independently of 
modulation. His subjects, too, are usually chosen 
with the view of affording scope to a certain vzvida 
vis of expression which seems to be his forte; but in 
taste, and especially in zzagination, which Coleridge 
has justly styled the sou of all poetry, he is ever 
remarkably deficient. His themes are mever to our 
liking. 

His chirography is an ordinary clerk’s hand, afford- 
ing little indication of character. 


Mrs. ANN S. STEPHENS was at one period the editor 
of the “ Portland Magazine,” a periodical of which we 
have not heard for some time, and which, we presume, 


244 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


has been discontinued. More lately her name has 
been placed upon the titlepage of the “‘ Lady’s Com- 
panion”’ of New York, as one of the conductors of 
that journal, to which she has contributed many arti- 
cles of merit and popularity. She has also written 


much and well for various other periodicals, and will 
hereafter enrich this magazine with her compositions, 
and act as one of its editors. 

Her manuscript is a very excellent one, and differs 
from that of her sex in general by an air of more than 
usual force and freedom. 


In the foregoing fac-simile signatures of the most 
distinguished American literati our design was to 
furnish a complete series of autographs, embracing .a 
specimen of the manuscript of each of the most noted 
among our living male and female writers. For 
obvious reasons, we made no attempt at classification 
or arrangement, either in reference to reputation or 
our own private opinion of merit. Our second article 
will be found to contain as many of the Dz majorum 
gentium as our first; and this, our third and last, as 
many as either — although fewer names, upon the 
whole, than the preceding papers. The impossibility 
of procuring the signatures now given, at a period 


245 


MISCELLANIES 


sufficiently early for the immense edition of December, 
has obliged us to introduce this Appendix. 

It is with great pleasure that we have found our 
anticipations fulfilled in respect to the popularity of 
these. chapters, — our individual claim to merit is so 
trivial that we may be permitted to say so much, — 
but we confess it was with no less surprise than 
pleasure that we observed so little discrepancy of 
opinion manifested in relation to the hasty, critical, or 
rather gossiping, observations which accompanied the 
signatures. Where the subject was so wide and so 
necessarily personal — where the claims of more than 
one hundred literati, summarily disposed of, were 
turned over for re-adjudication to a press so intri- 
cately bound up in their interests as is ours —it is 
really surprising how little of dissent was mingled with 
so much of general comment. The fact, however, 
speaks loudly to one point,—to the uxzty of truth. 
It assures us that the differences which exist among 
us are differences not of real, but of affected, opinion, 
and that the voice of him who maintains fearlessly 
what he believes honestly is pretty sure to find an 
echo (if the speaking be not mad) in the vast heart ot 


the world at large. 


The “Writings of CHARLES SPRAGUE” were first 
collected and published about nine months ago by 
Mr. Charles S. Francis of New York. At the time of 
the issue of the book we expressed our opinion frankly 

246 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


in respect to the general merits of the author —an 
opinion with which one or two members of the Boston 
press did not see fit to agree, but which,.as yet, we 
have found no reason for modifying. What we say 
now is, in spirit, merely a repetition of what we said 
then. Mr. Sprague is an accomplished belles-lettres 
scholar, so far as the usual ideas of scholarship extend. 
He is avery correct rhetorician of the old school. His 
versification has not been equalled by that of any 
American — has been surpassed by no one living or 
dead. In this regard there are to be found finer 
passages in his poems than any elsewhere. These 
are his chief merits. In the essentials of poetry he 
is excelled by twenty of our countrymen whom we 
could name. Except in a very few instances he gives 
no evidence of the loftier ideality. His ‘“ Winged 
Worshippers,” and “ Lines on the Death of M. S. C.” 
are beautiful poems — but he has written nothing else 
which should be called so. His “ Shakspeare Ode,” 
upon which his high reputation mainly depended, is 
quite a second-hand affair, with no merit whatever 
beyond that of a polished and vigorous versification. 
Its imitation of Collins’s “Ode to the Passions” is 
obvious. Its allegorical conduct is mawkish, passé, 
and absurd. The poem, upon the whole, is just such 
a one as would have obtained its author an Etonian 
prize some forty or fifty years ago. It is an exquisite 
specimen of mannerism, without meaning and without 
merit; of an artificial, but most inartistical, style of 
composition, of which conventionality is the soul, — 
taste, nature, and reason the antipodes. A man may 
be a clever financier without being a genius. 

It requires but little effort to see in Mr. Sprague’s 
manuscript all the idiosyncrasy of his intellect. Here 


247 


MISCELLANIES 


are distinctness, precision, and vigor; but vigor em- 
ployed upon grace rather than upon its legitimate 
functions. The signature fully indicates the general 
hand, in which the spirit of elegant imitation and 
conversation may be seen reflected as in a mirror. 


Chrncleis lea lltdle 


Mr. CORNELIUS MATHEWS is one of the editors of 
“ Arcturus,” a monthly journal which has attained 
much reputation during the brief period of its exis- 
tence. He is the author of “ Puffer Hopkins,” a 
clever satirical tale somewhat given to excess in cari- 
cature, and also of the well-written retrospective 
criticisms which appear in his magazine. He is better 
known, however, by “ The Motley Book,” published 
some years ago—a work which we had no opportu- 
nity of reading. He is a gentleman of taste and 
judgment unquestionably. 

His manuscript is much to our liking; bold, distinct, 
and picturesque; such a hand as no one destitute of 
talent indites. The signature conveys the hand. 


Mr. CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN is tlie author of 
“A Winter in the West,” “Greyslaer,” and other 
productions of merit. At one time he edited, with 

248 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


much ability, the ‘“ American Monthly Magazine” in 
conjunction with Mr. Benjamin, and subsequently with 
Dr. Bird. He is a gentleman of talent. 

His chirography is not unlike that of Mr. Mathews. 
It has the same boldness, strength, and picturesque- 
ness, but is more diffuse, more ornamented, and less 
legible. Our fac-simile is from a somewhat hurried 
signature, which fails in giving a correct idea of the 
general hand. 


Eforezs Greek 


Mr. HORACE GREELEY, present editor of the “ Tri- 
bune,” and formerly of the ‘“ New Yorker,” has for 
many years been remarked as one of the most able 
and honest of American editors. He has written much 
and invariably well. His political knowledge is equal 
to that of any of his contemporaries—his general 
information extensive. As a belles-lettres critic he 
is entitled to high respect. 

His manuscript is a remarkable one, having about 
it a peculiarity which we know not how better to 
designate than as a converse of the picturesque. His 
characters are scratchy and irregular, ending with an 
abrupt taper —if we may be allowed this contradiction 
in terms, where we have the fac-simile to prove that 
there is no contradiction in fact. All abrupt manu- 
scripts, save this, have square or comcise terminations 
of the letters. The whole chirography puts us in 
mind of a 7zg. We can fancy the writer jerking up 
his hand from the paper at the end of each word, and, 
indeed, of each letter. What mental idiosyncrasy lies 
perdu beneath all this is more than we can say, but 


249 


MISCELLANIES 


we will venture to assert that Mr. Greeley (whom 
we do not know personally) is, Jersonally, a very 
remarkable man. 


Ofer G7otvnd 


The name of Mr. PROSPER M. WETMORE is 
familiar to all readers of American light literature. 
He has written a great deal, at various periods, both 
in prose and poetry (but principally in the latter) for 
our papers, magazines, and annuals. Of late days 
we have seen but little, comparatively speaking, from 
his pen. 

His manuscript is not unlike that of Fitz-Greene 
Halleck, but is by no means so good. Its clerky 
flourishes indicate a love of the beautiful with an 
undue straining for effect — qualities which are dis- - 
tinctly traceable in his poetic efforts. As many as 
five or six words are occasionally run together; and 
no man who writes thus will be noted for fzsh of 
style. Mr. Wetmore is sometimes very slovenly in 
his best compositions. 


Professor WARE, of Harvard, has written some very 
excellent poetry, but is chiefly known by his “ Life of 
the Saviour,” “ Hints on Extemporaneous Preaching,” 
and other religious works. 

250 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


His manuscript is fully shown in the signature. It 
evinces the direct unpretending strength and simplicity 
which characterizes the man, not less than his general 
compositions. 


Mile Gd enbete 


The name of WILLIAM B. O. PEABopy, like that 
of Mr. Wetmore, is known chiefly to the readers of 
our light literature, and much more familiarly to 
Northern than to Southern readers. He is a resident 
of Springfield, Mass. His occasional poems have 
been much admired. 

His chirography is what would be called beautiful 
by the ladies universally, and, perhaps, by a large ma- 
jority of the bolder sex. Individually, we think it a 
miserable one — too careful, undecided, tapering, and 
effeminate. It is not unlike Mr. Paulding’s, but is 
more regular and more legible, with less force. We 
hold it as undeniable that no man of genzus ever 
wrote such a hand. 


EpPES SARGENT, Esq., has acquired high reputa- 
tion as the author of “ Velasco,” a tragedy full of 
beauty as a poem, but not adapted — perhaps not in- 


tended — for representation. He has written, besides, 
251 


MISCELLANIES 


many very excellent poems, —“ The Missing Ship,” 
for example, published in the “Knickerbocker; ” 
“The Night Storm at Sea;” and, especially, a fine 
production entitled “ Shells and Sea-Weeds.” One or 
two Theatrical Addresses from his pen are very cred- 
itable zz their way — but the way itself is, as we have 
before said, execrable. As an editor, Mr. Sargent has 
also distinguished himself. He is a gentleman of taste 
and high talent. 

His manuscript is too much in the usual clerk style 
to be either vigorous, graceful, or easily read. It re- 
sembles Mr. Wetmore’s, but has somewhat more 
force. The signature is better than the general hand, 
but conveys its idea very well. 


WI Cllatowe 


The name of WASHINGTON ALLSTON, the poet 
and painter, is one that has been long before the 
public. Of his paintings we have here nothing to 
say, except, briefly, that the most noted of them are 
not to our taste. His poems are not all of a high 
order of merit; and, in truth, the faults of his pencil 
and of his pen are identical. Yet every reader will 
remember his “ Spanish Maid” with pleasure; and 
the “Address to Great Britain,” first published in 
Coleridge’s “ Sibylline Leaves,” and attributed to an 
English author, is a production of which Mr. Allston 
may be proud. 

His manuscript, notwithstanding an exceedingly 
simple and boyish air, is one which we particularly 
admire. It is forcible, picturesque, and legible, with- 
out ornament of any description. Each letter is 

252 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


formed with a thorough distinctness and individuality. 
Such a manuscript indicates caution and precision, 
most unquestionably ; but we say of it as we say of 
Mr. Peabody’s (a very different manuscript), that no 
man of original genius ever did or could habitually 
indite it under any circumstances whatever. The sig- 
nature conveys the general hand with accuracy. 


Mr. ALFRED B. STREET has been long before the 
public asa poet. At as early an age as fifteen, some 
of his pieces were published by Bryant in the “ Even- 
ing Post;” among these was one of much merit, en- 
titled a “ Winter Scene.” In the “ New York Book,” 
and in the collections of American Poetry by Mes- 
sieurs Keese and Bryant, will be found many excellent 
specimens of his maturer powers. “ The Willewe- 
mock. Lhe Forest Tree,” “The Indian’s Vigil,” 
“ The Lost Hunter,” and “* White Lake,” we prefer to 
any of his other productions which have met our eye. 
Mr. Street has fine taste, and a keen sense of the 
beautiful. He writes carefully, elaborately, and cor- 
rectly. He has made Mr. Bryant his model, and in 
all Mr. Bryant’s good points would be nearly his equal, 
were it not for the sad and too perceptible stain of 
the imitation. That he has imitated at all—or rather 
that, in mature age, he has persevered in his imita- 
tions —is sufficient warranty for placing him among 
the men of talent rather than among the men of 
genius. 

His manuscript is full corroboration of this war- 
ranty. It is a very pretty chirography, graceful, legi- 


253 


MISCELLANIES 


ble, and neat. By most persons it would be called 
beautiful. The fact is, it is without fault; but its 
merits, like those of his poems, are chiefly negative. 


Mr. RICHARD PENN SMITH, although perhaps bet. 
ter known in Philadelphia than elsewhere, has ac- 
quired much literary reputation. His chief works are 
“The Forsaken,” a novel; a pseudo-autobiography 
called “ Colonel Crockett’s Tour in Texas,” the trag- 
edy of ‘“*Caius Marius,” and two domestic dramas 
entitled “‘ The Disowned” and “ The Deformed.” He 
has also published two volumes of miscellanies, under 
the title of “‘ The Actress of Padua and Other Tales,” 
besides occasional poetry. We are not sufficiently 
cognizant of any of these works to speak with deci- 
sion respecting their merits. In a biography of Mr. 
Smith, however, very well written, by his friend, Mr. 
McMichael, of this city, we are informed of “ The 
Forsaken,” that “‘a large edition of it was speedily 
exhausted;” of “The Actress of Padua,” that it 
‘‘had an extensive sale and was much commended; ” 
of the “ Tour in Texas,” that “few books attained an 
equal popularity ;” of “Caius Marius,” that “it has 
great capabilities for an acting play;” of “ The Dis- 
owned ” and “ The Deformed,” that they “ were per- 
formed at the London theatres, where they both made 
a favorable impression;” and of his poetry in gen- 
eral, ‘that it will be found superior to the average 
quality of that commodity.” “Itis by his dramatic 


254 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


efforts,” says the biographer, “that his merits as a 
poet must be determined, and judged by these he will 
be assigned a place in the foremost rank of American 
writers.” We have only to add that we have the 
highest respect for the judgment of Mr. McMichael. 

Mr. Smith’s manuscript is clear, graceful, and legi- 
ble, and would generally be called a fine hand, but 
is somewhat too clerky for our taste. 


Dr. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, of Boston, late 
Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth 
College, has written many productions of merit, and 
has been pronounced by a very high authority the 
best of the humorous poets of the day. 

His chirography is remarkably fine, and a quick 
fancy might easily detect, in its graceful yet pic- 
turesque quaintness, an analogy with the vivid drollery 
of his style. The signature is a fair specimen of the 
general manuscript. 





Bishop DOANE, of New Jersey, is somewhat more 
extensively known in his clerical than in a literary 
capacity, but has accomplished much more than 
sufficient in the world of books to entitle him to 
a place among the most noted of our living men 


255 


MISCELLANIES 


of letters. The compositions by which he is best 
known were published, we believe, during his pro- 
fessorship of Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres in Washing- 
ton College, Hartford. 

His manuscript has some resemblance to that of 
Mr. Greeley of the “ Tribune.” The signature is far 
bolder and altogether better than the general hand. 


Wi Fhe 


We believe that Mr. ALBERT PIKE has never pub- 
lished his poems in book form; nor has he written 
anything since 1834. His “ Hymns to the Gods,” 
and “ Ode to the Mocking Bird,” being printed in 
“Blackwood,” are the chief basis of his reputation. 
His lines “ To Spring” are, however, much better 
in every respect, and a little poem from his pen, 
entitled “ Ariel,” originally published in the Boston 
*“ Pearl,” is one of the finest of American compositions. 
Mr. Pike has unquestionably merit, and that of a 
high order. His ideality is rich and well disciplined. 
He is the most classic of our poets in the best sense 
of the term, and of course his classicism is very 
different from that of Mr. Sprague — to whom, never- 
theless, he bears much resemblance in other respects. 
Upon the whole, there are few of our native writers 
to whom we consider him inferior. 

His manuscript shows clearly the spirit of his 
intellect. We observe in it a keen sense not only 
of the beautiful and graceful, but of the picturesque 
—neatness, precision, and general finish, verging 
upon effeminacy. In force it is deficient. The sig- 
nature fails to convey the entire manuscript, which 
depends upon masses for its peculiar character. 

256 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


Dr. JAMES MCHEnryY, of Philadelphia, is well 
known to the literary world as the writer of numer- 
ous articles in our reviews and lighter journals, but 
more especially as the author of “The Antediluvians,” 
an epic poem which has been the victim of a most 


shameful cabal in this country, and the subject of 
a very disgraceful pasquinade on the part of Pro- 
fessor Wilson. Whatever may be the demerits, in 
some regard, of this poem, there can be no question 
of the utter want of fairness, and even of common 
decency, which distinguished the philippic in ques- 
tion. The writer of a just review of “The Ante- 
diluvians” —the only tolerable American epic — 
would render an important service to the literature 
of his country. 

Dr. McHenry’s manuscript is distinct, bold, 
and simple, without ornament or superfluity. The 
signature well conveys the idea of the general hand. 


@.3 KILL 


Mrs. R. S. NicHoLs has acquired much repu- 
tation of late years by frequent and excellent con- 
tributions to the magazines and annuals. Many of 
her compositions will be found in our pages. 

Her manuscript is fair, neat, and legible, but 
formed somewhat too much upon the ordinary board- 

VOL. IX. — 17 257 


MISCELLANIES 


ing-school model to afford any indication of character. 
The signature is a good specimen of the hand. 





Mr. RICHARD ADAMS LOCKE is one among the 
few men of unquestionable gentus whom the country 
possesses. Of the “Moon Hoax” it is supereroga- 
tory to say one word—not to know ¢hat argues 
one’s self unknown. Its rich imagination will long 
dwell in the memory of every one who reads it, 
and surely if 


“the worth of anything 
Is just so much as it will bring —’? 


if, in short, we are to judge of the value of a literary 
composition in any degree by its efect—then was 
the “ Hoax” most precious. 

But Mr. Locke is also a poet of high order. We 
have seen —nay, more, we have heard him read — 
verses of his own which would make the fortune of 
two-thirds of our poetasters; and he is yet so 
modest as never to have published a volume of 
poems. As an editor, as a political writer, as a 
writer in general, we think that he has scarcely a 
superior in America. There is no man among us 
to whose sleeve we would rather pin — not our faith 
(of that we say nothing) — but our judgement. 

‘His manuscript is clear, bold, and forcible — 
somewhat modified, no doubt, by the circumstance 
of his editorial position — but still sufficiently indica- 


tive of his fine intellect. 
258 


A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY 


M/C 

Mr. RALPH WALDO EMERSON belongs to a class 
of gentlemen with whom we have no patience what- 
ever —the mystics for mysticism’s sake. Quin- 
tilian mentions a pedant who taught obscurity, and 
who once said to a pupil: “This is excellent, for I 
do not understand it myself.” How the good man 
would have chuckled over Mr. Emerson! His present 
vole seems to be the out-Carlyling Carlyle. Lycophron 
Tenebrosus is a fool to him. The best answer to 
his twaddle is cuz bono? — a very little Latin phrase 
very generally mistranslated and misunderstood — 
cuz bono?—to whom is it a benefit? If not to 
Mr. Emerson individually, then surely to no man 
living. 

His love of the obscure does not prevent him, 
nevertheless, from the composition of occasional 
poems in which beauty is apparent dy flashes. Several 
of his effusions appeared in the ‘“ Western Messen- 
ger’ — more in the “Dial,” of which he is the soul — 
or the sun—or the shadow. We remember “ The 
Sphinx,” “The Problem,” “The Snow Storm,” and 
some fine old-fashioned verses, entitled “O Fair and 
Stately Maid Whose Eyes.” 

His manuscript is bad, sprawling, illegible, and 
irregular — although sufficiently bold. This latter 
trait may be, and no doubt is, only a portion of 
his general affectation. 


259 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


As we can scarcely imagine a time when there did 
not exist a necessity, or at least a desire, of trans- 
mitting information from one individual to another in 
such a manner as to elude general comprehension, so 
we may well suppose the practice of writing in cipher 
to be of great antiquity. De la Guilletiere, therefore, 
who, in his ‘*Lacedemon Ancient and Modern,” 
maintains that the Spartans were the inventors of 
Cryptography, is obviously in error. He speaks of 
the scytala as being the origin of the art; but he 
should only have cited it as one of its earliest 
instances, so far as our records extend. The scytale 
were two wooden cylinders, precisely similar in all 
respects. The general of an army, in going upon 
any expedition, received from the ephorz one of 
these cylinders, while the other remained in their 
possession. If either party had occasion to com- 
municate with the other, a narrow strip of parch- 
ment was so wrapped around the scyfa/a that the 
edges of the skin fitted accurately each to each. 
The writing was then inscribed longitudinally, and 
the epistle unrolled and despatched. If, by mis- 
chance, the messenger was intercepted, the letter 
proved unintelligible to his captors. If he reached 
his destination safely, however, the party addressed 
had only to involve the second cylinder in the strip 
to decipher the inscription. The transmission to our 
260 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


own times of this obvious mode of cryptography is 
due, probably, to the Azstorical use of the scytala 
rather than to anything else. Similar means of 
secret intercommunication must have existed almost 
contemporaneously with the invention of letters. 

It may be as well to remark, in passing, that in 
none of the treatises on the subject of this paper 
which have fallen under our cognizance have we 
observed any suggestion of a method — other than 
those which apply alike to all ciphers — for the solu- 
tion of the cipher by scyfa/a. We read of instances, 
indeed, in which the intercepted parchments were 
deciphered; but we are not informed that this was 
ever done except accidentally. Yet a solution might 
be obtained with absolute certainty in this manner. 
The strip of skin being intercepted, let there be 
prepared a cone of great length comparatively — say 
six feet long — and whose circumference at base shall 
at least equal the length of the strip. Let this latter 
be rolled upon the cone near the base, edge to edge, 
as above described; then, still keeping edge to edge, 
and maintaining the parchment close upon the cone, 
let it be gradually slipped toward the apex. In this 
process, some of those words, syllables, or letters, 
whose connection is intended, will be sure to come 
together at that point of the cone where its diameter 
equals that of the scyfa/a upon which the cipher was 
written. And as in passing up the cone toits apex all 
possible diameters are passed over, there is no chance 
of a failure. The circumference of the scytala being 
thus ascertained, a similar one can be made, and the 
cipher applied to it. 

Few persons can be made to believe that it is not 
quite an easy thing to invent a method of secret writ- 

261 


MISCELLANIES 


ing which shall baffle investigation. Yet it may be 
roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct 
a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve. In 
the facility with which such writing is deciphered, 
however, there exist very remarkable differences in 
different intellects. Often, in the case of two indi- 
viduals of acknowledged equality as regards ordinary 
mental efforts, it will be found that, while one cannot 
unriddle the commonest cipher, the other will scarcely 
be puzzled by the most abstruse. It may be observed 
generally that in such investigations the analytic 
ability is very forcibly called into action; and, for 
this reason, cryptographical solutions might, with 
great propriety, be introduced into academies as the 
means of giving tone to the most important of the 
powers of mind. 

Were two individuals, totally unpractised in cryp- 
tography, desirous of holding by letter a correspon- 
dence which should be unintelligible to all but 
themselves, it is most probable that they would at 
once think of a peculiar alphabet, to which each 
should have a key. At first it would, perhaps, be 
arranged that @ should stand for z, 4 for y, ¢ for x, a 
for w, etc., etc.; that is to say, the order of the letters 
would be reversed. Upon second thoughts, this 
arrangement appearing too obvious, a more complex 
mode would be adopted. The first thirteen letters 
might be written beneath the last thirteen, thus: 

no ‘pq. Tr ‘s- t) Ul Vv swear 
ab. ¢:-div-e. if seth ijk 
and, so placed, a might stand for z and ~ for a, o for 
6 and 6 for a, etc., etc. This, again, having an air of 
regularity which might be fathomed, the key alphabet 
might be struck absolutely at random. Thus, 
262 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


a might stand for p 


b 79 “ “cc x 
Cc “cc “cc 6b u 
re ba Samael Oo CLC. 


The correspondents, unless convinced of their error 
by the solution of their cipher, would, no doubt, be 
willing to rest in this latter arrangement as affording 
full security. But if not, they would be likely to hit 
upon the plan of arbitrary marks used in place of 
the usual characters. For example: 


( might be employed for a 
6 “ “ b 


6c “cc ““ c 


66 é “cc d 


) “ “cc “ e, etc. 


we eo @ 


A letter composed of such characters would have 
an intricate appearance unquestionably. If still, how- 
ever, it did not give full satisfaction, the idea of a 
perpetually shifting alphabet might be conceived, and 
thus effected. Let two circular pieces of pasteboard 
be prepared, one about half an inch in diameter less 
than the other. Let the centre of the smaller be 
placed upon the centre of the larger one, and secured 
for a moment from slipping; while vad7zz are drawn 
from the common centre to the circumference of the 
smaller circle, and thus extended to the circumference 
of the greater. Let there be twenty-six of these 
radii, forming on each pasteboard twenty-six spaces. 
In each of these spaces on the under circle write one 
of the letters of the alphabet, so that the whole 
alphabet be written —if at random so much the 
better. Do the same with the upper circle. Now 
run a pin through the common centre, and let the 

263 


MISCELLANIES 


upper circle revolve, while the under one is held fast. 
Now stop the revolution of the upper circle, and, 
while both lie still, write the epistle required; using 
for a that letter in the smaller circle which tallies with 
ain the larger, for 4 that letter in the smaller circle 
which tallies with Jin the larger, etc., etc. In order 
that an epistle thus written may be read by the 
person for whom it is intended, it is only necessary 
that he should have in his possession circles con- 
structed as those just described, and that he should 
know any two of the characters (one in the under and 
one in the upper circle) which were in juxtaposition 
when his correspondent wrote the cipher. Upon this 
latter point he is informed by looking at the two 
initial letters of the document which serves as a key. 
Thus, if he sees a m# at the beginning, he concludes 
that by turning his circles so as to put these char- 
acters in conjunction, he will arrive at the alphabet 
employed. 

At a cursory glance, these various modes of con- 
structing a cipher seem to have about them an air 
of inscrutable secrecy. It appears almost an impos- 
sibility to unriddle what has been put together by 
so complex a method. And to some persons the 
difficulty might be great; but to others — to those 
skilled in deciphering — such enigmas are very simple 
indeed. The reader should bear in mind that the 
basis of the whole art of solution, as far as regards 
these matters, is found in the general principles of 
the formation of language itself, and thus is altogether 
independent of the particular laws which govern any 
cipher, or the construction of its key. The difficulty 
of reading a cryptographical puzzle is by no means 
always in accordance with the labor or ingenuity with 

264 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


which it has been constructed. The sole use of the 
key, indeed, is for those az fazt to the cipher; in its 
perusal by a third party, no reference is had to it at 
all. The lock of the secret is picked. In the different 
methods of cryptography specified above, it will be 
observed that there is a gradually increasing com- 
plexity. But this complexity is only in shadow. It 
has no substance whatever. It appertains merely 
to the formation, and has no bearing upon the solu- 
tion of the cipher. The last mode mentioned is not 
in the least degree more difficult to be deciphered than 
the first — whatever may be the difficulty of either. 

In the discussion of an analogous subject, in one of 
the weekly papers of this city, about eighteen months 
ago, the writer of this article had occasion to speak of 
the application of a rigorous #ethod in all forms of 
thought; of its advantages, of the extension of its use 
even to what is considered the operation of pure 
fancy —and thus, subsequently, of the solution of 
cipher. He even ventured to assert that no cipher, 
of the character above specified, could be sent to the 
address of the paper which he would not be able to 
resolve. This challenge excited, most unexpectedly, 
a very lively interest among the numerous readers of 
the journal. Letters were poured in upon the editor 
from all parts of the country; and many of the 
writers of these epistles were so convinced of the im- 
penetrability of their mysteries as to be at great pains 
to draw him into wagers on the subject. At the same 
time, they were not always scrupulous about sticking 
to the point. The cryptographs were, in numerous 
instances, altogether beyond the limits defined in the 
beginning. Foreign languages were employed. 
Words and sentences were run together without 

265 


MISCELLANIES 


interval. Several alphabets were used in the same 
cipher. One gentleman, but moderately endowed 
with conscientiousness, inditing us a puzzle composed 
of pot-hooks and hangers to which the wildest typog- 
raphy of the office could afford nothing similar, went 
even so far as to jumble together no less than seven 
distinct alphabets, without intervals between the 
letters or between the lines. Many of the crypto- 
graphs were dated in Philadelphia, and several of 
those which urged the subject of a bet were written 
by gentlemen of this city. Out of, perhaps, one hun- 
dred ciphers altogether received, there was only one 
which we did not immediately succeed in resolving. 
This one we demonstrated to be an imposition, — that 
is to say, we fully proved it a jargon of random char- 
acters, having no meaning whatever. In respect to 
the epistle of the seven alphabets, we had the pleas- 
ure of completely nonplussing its inditer by a prompt 
and satisfactory translation. 

The weekly paper mentioned was, for a period of 
some months, greatly occupied with the hieroglyphic 
and cabalistic-looking solutions of the cryptographs 
sent us from all quarters. Yet, with the exception of 
the writers of the ciphers, we do not believe that any 
individuals could have been found among the readers 
of the journal who regarded the matter in any other 
light than in that of a desperate humbug. We mean 
to say that no one really believed in the authenticity 
of the answers. One party averred that the mysteri- 
ous figures were only inserted to give a gueer air to 
the paper, for the purpose of attracting attention. 
Another thought it more probable that we not only 
solved the ciphers, but put them together ourselves 
for solution. This having been the state of affairs at 

266 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


the period when it was thought expedient to decline 
further dealings in necromancy, the writer of this 
article avails himself of the present opportunity to 
maintain the truth of the journal in question, to 
repel the charges of rigmarole by which it was 
assailed, and to declare, in his own name, that the 
ciphers were all written in good faith, and solved in 
the same spirit. 

A very common and somewhat too obvious mode of 
secret correspondence is the following: A card is 
interspersed, at irregular intervals, with oblong spaces 
about the length of ordinary words of three syllables 
in a bourgeois type. Another card is made exactly 
coinciding. One is in possession of each party. 
When a letter is to be written, the key-card is placed 
upon the paper, and words conveying the true mean- 
ing are inscribed in the spaces. The card is then re- 
moved and the blanks filled up, so as to make out a 
signification different from the real one. When the 
person addressed receives the cipher he has merely 
to apply to it his own card, when the superfluous 
words are concealed, and the significant ones alone 
appear. The chief objection to this cryptograph is 
the difficulty of so filling the blanks as not to givea 
forced appearance to the sentences. Differences also 
in the handwriting, between the words written in the 
spaces and those inscribed upon removal of the card, 
will always be detected by a close observer. 

A pack of cards is sometimes made the vehicle of a 
cipher in this manner: The parties determine, in the 
first place, upon certain arrangements of the pack. 
For example, it is agreed that, when a writing is to be 
commenced, a natural sequence of the spots shall be 
made; with spades at top, hearts next, diamonds next, 

267 


MISCELLANIES 


and clubs last. This order being obtained, the writer 
proceeds to inscribe upon the top card the first letter 
of his epistle, upon the next the second, upon the next 
the third, and so on until the pack is exhausted, when, 
of course, he will have written fifty-two letters. He 
now shuffles the pack according to a preconcerted 
plan. For example: he takes three cards from the 
- bottom and places them at top, then one from top, 
placing it at bottom, and so on, for a given number of 
times. This done, he again inscribes fifty-two char- 
acters as before, proceeding thus until his epistle is 
written. The pack being received by the correspond- 
ent, he has only to place the cards in the order agreed 
upon for commencement to read, letter by letter, the 
first fifty-two characters as intended. He has then 
only to shuffle in the manner pre-arranged for the 
second perusal to decipher the series of the next fifty- 
two letters, and so on tothe end. The objection to 
this cryptograph lies in the nature of the missive. A 
pack of cards, sent from one party to another, would 
scarcely fail to excite suspicion, and it cannot be 
doubted that it is far better to secure ciphers from 
being considered as such than to waste time in 
attempts at rendering them scrutiny-proof when inter- 
cepted. Experience shows that the most cunningly 
constructed cryptograph, if suspected, can and will be 
unriddled. 

An unusually secure mode of secret intercommuni- 
cation might be thus devised. Let the parties each 
furnish themselves with a copy of the same edition 
of a book —the rarer the edition the better, as also 
the rarer the book. In the cryptograph, numbers are 
used altogether, and these numbers refer to the local- 
ity of letters in the volume. For example —a cipher 

268 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


is received commencing, 121-6-8. The party ad. 
dressed refers to page 121, and looks at the sixth 
letter from the left of the page in the eighth line from 
the top. Whatever letter he there finds is the initial 
letter of the epistle —and so on. This method is 
very secure; yet it is osszble to decipher any crypto- 
graph written by its means—and it is greatly objec- 
tionable otherwise, on account of the time necessarily 
required for its solution, even with the key-volume. 

It is not to be supposed that cryptography, as a 
serious thing, as the means of imparting important 
information, has gone out of use at the present day. 
It is still commonly practised in diplomacy; and there 
are individuals, even now, holding office in the eye of 
various foreign governments, whose real business is 
that of deciphering. We have already said that a 
peculiar mental action is called into play in the solu- 
tion of cryptographical problems, at least in those of 
the higher order. Good cryptographists are rare 
indeed; and thus their services, although seldom re- 
quired, are necessarily well requited. 

An instance of the modern employment of writing 
in cipher is mentioned in a work lately published by 
Messieurs Lea and Blanchard of this city. In a 
notice of Berryer, it is said that a letter being ad- 
dressed by the Duchess de Berri to the Legitimists of 
Paris, to inform them of her arrival, it was accom- 
panied by a long note in cipher, the key of which she 
had forgotten to give. “The penetrating mind of 
Berryer,” says the biographer, “soon discovered it. 
It was this phrase substituted for the twenty-four 
letters of the alphabet — Le gouvernement provisotre.” 

1 “Sketches of Conspicuous Living Characters of France,” 


Philadelphia. 
269 


MISCELLANIES 


The assertion that Berryer “soon discovered the 
key-phrase,” merely proves that the writer of these 
memoirs is entirely innocent of cryptographical knowl- 
edge. Monsieur Berryer no doubt ascertained the 
key-phrase; but it was merely to satisfy his curiosity, 
after the riddle had been read. He made no use of 
the key in deciphering. The lock was picked. 

In our notice of the book in question (published in 
the April number of this magazine) we alluded to this 
subject thus : — 


“ The phrase ‘ Le gouvernement provisoire’ is French, and 
the note in cipher was addressed to Frenchmen. The 
difficulty of deciphering may well be supposed much 
greater, had the key been in a foreign tongue; yet any one 
who will take the trouble may address us a note, in the 
same manner as here proposed, and the key-phrase may 
be either in French, Italian, Spanish, German, Latin, or 
Greek (or in any of the dialects of these languages), and 
we pledge ourselves for the solution of the riddle.” 


This challenge has elicited but a single response, 
which is embraced in the following letter. The only 
quarrel we have with the epistle is that its writer has 
declined giving us his name in full. We beg that he 
will take an early opportunity of doing this, and thus 
relieve us of the chance of that suspicion which was 
attached to the cryptography of the weekly journal 
above mentioned — the suspicion of inditing ciphers 
to ourselves. The postmark of the letter is Stonzng- 
ton, Conn. 

$S—,, Ct., April, 1841. 
“ To the Editor of Graham’s Magazine: 

“ S1r,—In the April number of your magazine, while 
reviewing the translation by Mr. Walsh of ‘Sketches of 
Conspicuous Living Characters of France,’ you invite your 

270 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


readers to address you a note in cipher, ‘the key-phrase 
to which may be either in French, Italian, Spanish, Ger- 
man, Latin, or Greek,’ and pledge yourself for its solution. 
My attention being called by your remarks to this species 
of cipher-writing, I composed for my own amusement the 
following exercises, in the first part of which the key- 
phrase is in English —in the second in Latin. As I did 
not see (by the number for May) that any of your corre- 
spondents had availed himself of your offer, I take the 
liberty to send the enclosed, on which, if you should think 
it worth your while, you can exercise your ingenuity. 
“T am, yours respectfully, 
Cor Dads 
Se Oni Te 


“ Cauhiif aud ftd sdftirf ithot tacd wdde rdchfdr tiu fuae- 
fshffheo fdoudf hetiusafhie tuis ied herhchriai fi aeiftdu 
wn sdaef it iuhfheo hiidohwid fi aen deodsf ths tiu itis hf 
iaf iuhoheaiin rdffhedr; aer ftd auf it ftif fdoudfin oissie- 
hoafheo hefdiihodeod taf wdde odeduaiin fdusdr ouns- 
fiouastn. Saen fsdohdf it fdoudf iuhfheo idud weiie fi ftd 
aeohdeff ; fisdfhsdf, A fiacdf tdar iaf ftacdr aer ftd ouiie 
iuhffde isie ihft fisd herdihwid oiiiuheo tiihr, atfdu ithot 
ftd tahu wdheo sdushffdr fi ouii aoahe, hetiusafhie oiiir wd 
fuaefshffdr ihft ihffid raeodu ftaf rhfoicdun iiiir defid iefhi 
ftd aswiiafiun dshffid fatdin udaotdr hff rdffheafhie. 
Ounsfiouastn tiidcdu siud suisduin dswuaodf ftifd sirdf it 
iuhfheo ithot aud uderdudr idohwid iein wn sdaef it fisd 
desiaeafiun wdn ithot sawdf weiie ftd udai fhoehthoafhie 
it ftd ohstduf dssiindr fi hff siffdffiu. 


NO. 2: 


“ Ofoiioiiaso ortsili sov eodisoioe afduiostifoi ft iftvi si 
tri oistoiv oiniafetsorit ifeov rsri afotiliiv ridiiot irio rivvio 
eovit atrotfetsoria aioriti iitri tf oitovin tri aetifei ioreitit 
sov usttoi oioittstifo dfti afdooitior trso ifeov tri dfit otft- 
feov softriedi ft oistoiv oriofiforiti suitteii viireiiitifoi ft tri 

271 


MISCELLANIES 


rfasueostr ft rii dftrit tfoeei.” 


In the solution of the first of these ciphers we had 
little more than ordinary trouble. The second proved 
to be exceedingly difficult, and it was only by calling 
every faculty into play that we could read it at all. 
The first runs thus : — 


“Various are the methods which have been devised for 
transmitting secret information from one individual to an- 
other by means of writing, illegible to any except him for 
whom it was originally destined; and the art of thus 
secretly communicating intelligence has been generally 
termed cryptography. Many species of secret writing were 
known to the ancients. Sometimes a slave’s head was 
shaved and the crown written upon with some indelible 
coloring fluid; after which, the hair being permitted to 
grow again, information could be transmitted with little 
danger that discovery would ensue until the ambulatory 
epistle safely reached its destination. Cryptography, how- 
ever pure, properly embraces those modes of writing which 
are rendered legible only by means of some explanatory 
key which makes known the real signification of the 
ciphers employed to its possessor.” 


The key-phrase of this cryptograph is—“ A word 
to the wise is sufficient.” 
The second is thus translated : — 


“ Nonsensical phrases and unmeaning combinations of 
words, as the learned lexicographer would have confessed 
himself, when hidden under cryptographic ciphers, serve 
to perpdex the curious enquirer, and baffle penetration 
more completely than would the most profound afothegms 
of learned philosophers. Abstruse disquisitions of the 
scholiasts were they but presented before him in the 
undisguised vocabulary of his mother tongue—” 

272 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


The last sentence here (as will be seen) is broken 
off short. The spelling we have strictly adhered to. 
D, by mistake, has been put for 7 in perplex. 

The key-phrase is —“ Suaviter in modo, fortiter 
im re.” 

In the ordinary cryptograph, as will be seen in 
reference to most of those we have specified above, 
the artificial alphabet agreed upon by the corre- 
spondents is employed, letter for letter, in place of the 
usual or natural one. For example — two parties wish 
to communicate secretly. It is arranged before part- 
ing that 


) shall stand for a 
( “cc 3 b 
bash 66 66 c 
* rT 66 d 
‘ 6é 66 e 
9 6c 66 f 
; 66 6é g 
: 13 “ h 
? i 4 i or j 
! “ “ k 
& 66 6é l 
oO “cc 6e m 
‘ “ee i<9 n 
t “ if3 oO 
t “ cc p 
qT “ cc q 
we “ “ec r 
‘| “ c¢ s 
[ 6c “  ¢ 
4 “ 43 uorv 
$ if “ Ww 
é “ it 9 x 
i “ ‘ce y 
yy 6s“ 6c Zz 


VOL. Ix. — 18 273 


MISCELLANIES 
Now the following note is to be communicated : 


“We must see you immediately upon a matter of great 
importance. Plots have been discovered, and the con- 
spirators are in our hands. Hasten!” 


These words would be written thus: — 


$.0£][]..it £200. *?)[.&istt oll. se vs 
ie.) Leott tar l)‘—.t& 11) 2) Sat ee 
£N— -*)* Ts. — tS] bere Lt wae) ) ae PS 
1 40@-:)*7:) 10! 

This certainly has an intricate appearance, and 
would prove a most difficult cipher to any one not 
conversant with cryptography. But it will be observed 
that a, for example, is never represented by any other 
character than ), 6 never by any other character than (, 
and so on. Thus by the discovery, accidental or 
otherwise, of any one letter, the party intercepting the 
epistle would gain a permanent and decided ad- 
vantage, and could apply his knowledge to all the 
instances in which the character in question was 
employed throughout the cipher. 

In the cryptographs, on the other hand, which have 
been sent us by our correspondent at Stonington, and 
which are identical in conformation with the cipher 
resolved by Berryer, no such permanent advantage is 
to be obtained. 

Let us refer to the second of these puzzles. Its 
key-phrase runs thus : — 


“ Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re.” 


Let us now place the alphabet beneath the phrase, 
letter beneath letter — 


274 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 
Ale 
A 
t c ent ie 
r t wixjy|zZ 


We here see that 





a 
c 




















ofp lal 
OPS 
r 
v 








a stands for c 
66 m 
- g, u, and z 
6é re) 
e, 1, s, and w 
66 k 
j and x 
rh I, n, and p 
seins; Vaud y 
66 a 
oh f, r, andt 
“c b 
4“ d 


ae hoe 8 Os Bo i wet Oe cL 


In this manner z stands for two letters, and e, 0, and ¢ 
for three each, while z and 7 represent each as many 
asfour. Thirteen characters are made to perform the 
operations of the whole alphabet. The result of such 
a key-phrase upon the cipher is to give it the appear- 
ance of a mere medley of the letters ¢, 0, ¢, v, and 2, 
the latter character greatly predominating through the 
accident of being employed for letters, which, them- 
selves, are inordinately prevalent in most languages — 
we mean ¢ and z. 

A letter thus written being intercepted, and the 
key-phrase unknown, the individual who should at- 
tempt to decipher it may be imagined ewessing, or 
otherwise attempting to convince himself, that a cer- 
tain character (z, for example) represented the letter e. 


275 


MISCELLANIES 


Looking throughout the cryptograph for confirmation 
of this idea, he would meet with nothing but a nega- 
tion of it. He would see the character in situations 
where it could not possibly represent ¢. He might, 
for instance, be puzzled by four z’s forming of them- 
selves a single word, without the intervention of any 
other character, in which case, of course, they could 
not be a// e’s. It will be seen that the word wése 
might be thus constructed. We say this may be seen 
now, by us, in possession of the key-phrase, but the 
question will no doubt occur, how, wzthout the key- 
phrase, and without cognizance of any single letter in 
the cipher, it would be possible for the intercepter of 
such a cryptograph to make anything of such a word 
as 7222 ? } 

But again. A key-phrase might easily be con- 
structed in which one character would represent 
seven, eight, or ten letters. Let us then imagine 
to an individual wzthout the proper key-phrase, or, 
if this be a supposition somewhat too perplexing, let 
us suppose it occurring to the person for whom the 
cipher is designed, and who kas the key-phrase. 
What is he to do with such a word as zezé7¢z¢z2? In 
any of the ordinary books upon Algebra will be found 
a very concise formula (we have not the necessary 
type for its insertion here) for ascertaining the number 
of arrangements in which mm letters may be placed, 
taken z at a time. But no doubt there are none of 
our readers ignorant of the innumerable combinations 
which may be made from these ten z’s. Yet, unless it 
occur otherwise by accident, the correspondent re- 
ceiving the cipher would have to write down all these 
combinations before attaining the word intended, and 

276 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


even when he had written them he would be inexpres- 
sibly perplexed in selecting the word designed from 
the vast number of other words arising in the course 
of the permutation. 

To obviate, therefore, the exceeding difficulty of 
deciphering this species of cryptograph, on the part 
of the possessors of the key-phrase, and to confine 
the deep intricacy of the puzzle to those for whom the 
cipher was not designed, it becomes necessary that 
some order should be agreed upon by the parties 
corresponding, some order in reference to which 
those characters are to be read which represent more 
than one letter — and this order must be held in view 
by the writer of the cryptograph. It may be agreed, 
for example, that the fvs¢ time an 7 occurs in the 
cipher it is to be understood as representing the 
character which stands against the fvs¢zin the key- 
phrase, that the secovd time an z occurs it must be 
supposed to represent that letter which stands opposed 
to the second z in the key-phrase, etc., etc. Thus the 
location of each cipherical letter must be considered 
in connection with the character itself in order to 
determine its exact signification. 

We say that some preconcerted order of this kind is 
necessary lest the cipher prove too intricate a lock to 
yield even to its truekey. But it will be evident, upon 
inspection, that our correspondent at Stonington has 
inflicted upon us a cryptograph in which zo order has 
been preserved, in which many characters respectively 
stand, at absolute random, for many others. If, there- 
fore, in regard to the gauntlet we threw down in April, 
he should be half inclined to accuse us of braggadocio, 
he will yet admit that we have more than acted up 
to our boast. If what we then said was not said 


277 


MISCELLANIES 


suaviter in modo, what we now do is at least done 
Sortiter in re. 

In these cursory observations we have by no means 
attempted to exhaust the subject of Cryptography. 
With such an object in view a folio might be required. 
We have, indeed, mentioned only a few of the ordi- 
nary modes of cipher. Even two thousand years ago 
fEneas Tacticus detailed twenty distinct methods, and 
modern ingenuity has added much to the science. 
Our design has been chiefly suggestive, and perhaps 
we have already bored the readers of the magazine. 
To those who desire further information upon this 
topic we may say that there are extant treatises by 
Trithemius, Porta, Vigenere, and P. Nicéron. The 
works of the two latter may be found, we believe, in 
the library of the Harvard University. If, however, 
there should be sought in these disquisitions, or in 
any, rules for the solution of cipher, the seeker will 
be disappointed. Beyond some hints in regard to 
the general structure of language, and some minute 
exercises in their practical application, he will find 
nothing upon record which he does not in his own 
intellect possess. 


278 


ANASTATIC PRINTING 


Ir is admitted by every one that of late there has 
been a rather singular invention, called Anastatic 
Printing, and that this invention may possibly lead, in 
the course of time, to some rather remarkable results, 
among which the one chiefly insisted upon is the abo- 
lition of the ordinary stereotyping process; but this 
seems to be the amount, in America, at least, of 
distinct understanding on this subject. 

“ There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, “ with- 
out some strangeness in the proportions.” The phi- 
losopher had reference, here, to beauty in its common 
acceptation; but the remark is equally applicable 
to all the forms of beauty, — that is to say, to every- 
thing which arouses profound interest in the heart 
or intellect of man. In every such thing, strange- 
ness—in other words, zovelty —will be found a 
principal element; and so universal is this law that 
it has no exception even inthe case of this principal 
element itself. Nothing unless it be novel, zot even 
novelty ztself, will be the source of very intense ex- 
citement among men. Thus the exxuyé who travels 
in the hope of dissipating his exwuz by the perpetual 
succession of novelties will invariably be disappointed 
in the end. He receives the impression of novelty 
so continuously that it is at length no novelty to re- 
ceive it. And the man, in general, of the nineteenth 


279 


MISCELLANIES 


century — more especially of our own particular epoch 
of it— is very much in the predicament of the travel- 
ler in question. We are so habituated to new inven- 
tions that we no longer get from newness the vivid 
interest which should appertain to the new; and no 
example could be adduced more distinctly showing 
that the sere importance of a novelty will not suffice 
to gain for it universal attention than we find in the 
invention of Anastatic Printing. It excites not one- 
fiftieth part of the comment which was excited by 
the comparatively frivolous invention of Sennefelder ; 
but he lived in the good old days when a novelty was 
novel. Nevertheless, while Lithography opened the 
way for a very agreeable pastime, it is the province 
of Anastatic Printing to revolutionize the world. 

By means of this discovery anything written, 
drawn, or printed, can be made to stereotype itself, 
with absolute accuracy, in five minutes. 

Let us take, for example, a page of this Journal; 
supposing only one side of the leaf to have printing 
on it. We damp the leaf with a certain acid diluted, 
and then place it between two leaves of blotting-paper 
to absorb superfluous moisture. We then place the 
printed side in contact with a zinc plate that lies 
on the table. The acid in the interspaces between 
the letters immediately corrodes the zinc, but the 
acid on the letters themselves has no such effect, 
having been neutralized by the ink. Removing the 
leaf at the end of five minutes, we find a reversed 
copy, in slight relief, of the printing on the page; 
in other words, we have a stereotype-plate, from 
which we can print a vast number of absolute fac- 
similes of the original printed page, which latter has 
not been at all injured in the process, —that is to 

280 


ANASTATIC PRINTING 


say, we can still produce from it (or from any impres- 
sion of the stereotype-plate) new stereotype-plates 
ad libitum. Any engraving, or any pen-and-ink draw- 
ing, or any manuscript, can be stereotyped in pre- 
cisely the same manner. 

The facts of the invention are established. The 
process is in successful operation both in London 
and Paris. We have seen several specimens of print- 
ing done from the plates described, and have now 
lying before usa leaf (from the London “ Art-Union”’) 
covered with drawing, manuscript, letter-press, and 
impressions from wood-cuts, — the whole printed from 
the Anastatic stereotypes, and warranted by the “ Art- 
Union ” to be absolute fac-similes of the originals. 

The process can scarcely be regarded as a new 
invention, and appears to be rather the modification 
and successful application of two or three previously 
ascertained principles —those of etching, electrogra- 
phy, lithography, etc. It follows from this that there 
will be much difficulty in establishing or maintaining 
a right of patent, and the probability is that the 
benefits of the process will soon be thrown open to 
the world. As to the secret —it can only be a secret 
in name. 

That the discovery (if we may so call it) has been 
made can excite no surprise in any thinking person; 
the only matter for surprise is that it has not been 
made many years ago. The obviousness of the pro- 
cess, however, in no degree lessens its importance. 
Indeed, its inevitable results enkindle the imagina- 
tion and embarrass the understanding. 

Every one will perceive at once that the ordinary 
process of stereotyping will bé abolished. Through 
this ordinary process a publisher, to be sure, is en- 

281 


MISCELLANIES 


abled to keep on hand the means of producing edition 
after edition of any work the certainty of whose sale 
will justify the cost of stereotyping — which is trifling 
in comparison with that of resetting the matter. 
But still, josztively, this cost (of stereotyping) is 
great. Moreover, there cannot always be certainty 
about sales. Publishers frequently are forced to re- 
set works which they have neglected to stereotype, 
thinking them unworthy the expense; and many ex- 
cellent works are not published at all, because small 
editions do not pay, and the anticipated sales will 
not warrant the cost of stereotype. Some of these 
difficulties will be at once remedied by the Anastatic 
Printing, and all will be remedied in a brief time. A 
publisher has only to print as many copies as are 
immediately demanded. He need print no more than 
a dozen, indeed, unless he feels perfectly confident 
of success. Preserving oze copy, he can from this, 
at no other cost than that of the zinc, produce, with 
any desirable rapidity, as many impressions as he 
may think proper. Some idea of the advantages thus 
accruing may be gleaned from the fact that in sev- 
eral of the London publishing warehouses there is 
deposited in stereotype-plates alone property to the 
amount of a million sterling. 

The next view of the case, in point of obviousness, 
is that, if necessary, a hundred thousand impressions 
per hour, or even infinitely more, can be taken of any 
newspaper, or similar publication. As many presses 
can be put in operation as the occasion may require ; 
indeed, there can be no limit to the number of copies 
producible, provided we have no limit to the number 
of presses. 

The tendency of all this to cheapen information, to 

282 


ANASTATIC PRINTING 


diffuse knowledge and amusement, and to bring be- 
fore the public the very class of works which are most 
valuable, but least in circulation on account of un- 
Salability, is what need scarcely be suggested to any 
one. But benefits such as these are merely the im- 
mediate and most obvious — by no means the most 
important. 

For some years, perhaps, the strong spirit of con- 
ventionality — of conservatism — will induce authors 
in general to have recourse, as usual, to the setting of 
type. A printed book zow is more sightly, and more 
legible, than any manuscript, and for some years the 
idea will not be overthrown that this state of things is 
one of necessity. But by degrees it will be remem- 
bered that, while manuscript was a mecessity, men 
wrote after such fashion that no books printed in 
modern times have surpassed their manuscripts either 
in accuracy or in beauty. This consideration will 
lead to the cultivation of a neat and distinct style of 
handwriting; for authors will perceive the immense 
advantage of giving their own manuscripts directly to 
the public without the expensive interference of the 
type-setter, and the often ruinous intervention of the 
publisher. All that a man of letters need do will be 
to pay some attention to legibility of manuscript, 
arrange his pages to suit himself, and stereotype them 
instantaneously, as arranged. He may intersperse 
them with his own drawings, or with anything to 
please his own fancy, in the certainty of being fairly 
brought before his readers with all the freshness of 
his original conception about him. 

And at this point we are arrested by a consideration 
of infinite moment, although of a seemingly shadowy 
character. The cultivation of accuracy in manuscript 

283 


MISCELLANIES 


thus enforced will tend, with an inevitable impetus, to 
every species of improvement in style, more especially 
in the points of concision and distinctness; and this 
again, in a degree even more noticeable, to precision 
of thought and luminous arrangement of matter. 
There is a very peculiar and easily intelligible recip- 
rocal influence between the thing written and the 
manner of writing, but the latter has the predominant 
influence of the two. The more remote effect on 
philosophy at large, which will inevitably result from 
improvement of style and thought in the points of 
concision, distinctness, and accuracy, need only be 
suggested to be conceived. 

As a consequence of attention being directed to neat- 
ness and beauty of manuscript, the antique profession 
of the scribe will be revived, affording abundant em- 
ployment to women, their delicacy of organization 
fitting them peculiarly for such tasks. The female 
amanuensis, indeed, will occupy very nearly the posi- 
tion of the present male type-setter, whose industry 
will be diverted perforce into other channels. 

These considerations are of vital importance, but 
there is yet one beyond them all. The value of every 
book is a compound of its literary value and its phy- 
sical or mechanical value, as the product of physical 
labor applied to the physical material. But at present 
the latter value immensely predominates even in the 
works of the most esteemed authors. It will be seen, 
however, that the new condition of things will at once 
give the ascendency to the literary values, and thus, 
by their literary values, will books come to be es- 
timated among men. The wealthy gentleman of 
“elegant leisure” will lose the vantage-ground now 
afforded him, and will be forced to tilt on terms of 

284 


ANASTATIC PRINTING 


equality with the poor-devil author. At present the 
literary world is a species of anomalous Congress, 
in which the majority of the members are constrained 
to listen in silence while all the eloquence proceeds 
from a privileged few. In the new régzme the hum- 
blest will speak as often and as freely as the most 
exalted, and will be sure of receiving just that amount 
of attention which the intrinsic merit of their speeches 
may deserve. 

From what we have said it will be evident that the 
discovery of Anastatic Printing will not only not obviate 
the necessity of copyright laws, and of an international 
law in especial, but will render this necessity more 
imperative and more apparent. It has been shown 
that in depressing the value of the phiyszque of a book 
the invention will proportionately elevate the value of 
its #zorale, and, since it is the latter value alone which 
the copyright laws are needed to protect, the necessity 
of the protection will be only the more urgent and 
more obvious than ever. 


285 


SOME SECRETS OF THE MAGA- 
ZINE PRISON-HOUSE 


Tue want of an International Copyright Law, by 
rendering it nearly impossible to obtain anything from 
the booksellers in the way of remuneration for literary 
labor, has had the effect of forcing many of our best 
writers into the service of the magazines and reviews, 
which, with a pertinacity that does them credit, keep 
up in a certain or uncertain degree the good old say- 
ing, that even in the thankless field of letters the 
laborer is worthy of his hire. How— by dint of what 
dogged instinct of the honest and proper — these 
journals have contrived to persist in their paying 
practices, in the very teeth of the opposition got up 
by the Fosters and Leonard Scotts, who furnish for 
eight dollars any four of the British periodicals for a 
year, is a point we have had much difficulty in settling 
to our satisfaction, and we have been forced to settle 
it at last upon no more reasonable ground than that 
of a still lingering esprit de patrie. That magazines 
can live, and not only live but thrive, and not only 
thrive but afford to disburse money for original con- 
tributions, are facts which can only be solved, under 
the circumstances, by the really fanciful but still 
agreeable supposition that there is somewhere still 
existing an ember not altogether quenched among 
the fires of good feeling for letters and literary men 
that once animated the American bosom. 
286 


SECRETS OF THE MAGAZINE PRISON-HOUSE 


It would zo¢ do (perhaps this is the idea) to let our 
poor-devil authors absolutely starve while we grow 
fat, in a literary sense, on the good things of which 
we unblushingly pick the pocket of all Europe; it 
would not be exactly the thing comme il faut to per- 
mit a positive atrocity of this kind; and hence we 
have magazines, and hence we have a portion of the 
public who subscribe to these magazines (through 
sheer pity), and hence we have magazine publishers 
(who sometimes take upon themselves the duplicate 
title of “editor axd proprietor ”’) — publishers, we say, 
who, under certain conditions of good conduct, occa- 
sional puffs, and decent subserviency at all times, 
make it a point of conscience to encourage the poor- 
devil author with a dollar or two, more or less, as 
he behaves himself properly and abstains from the 
indecent habit of turning up his nose. 

We hope, however, that we are not so prejudiced 
or so vindictive as to insinuate that what certainly 
does look like illiberality on the part of them (the 
magazine publishers) is really an illiberality charge- 
able to them. In fact, it will be seen at once that 
what we have said has a tendency directly the reverse 
of any such accusation. These publishers pay some- 
thing, — other publishers nothing at all. Here cer- 
tainly is a difference,—although a mathematician 
might contend that the difference might be infini- 
tesimally small. Still, these magazine editors and 
proprietors fay (that is the word), and with your 
true poor-devil author the smallest favors are sure 
to be thankfully received. No: the illiberality lies 
at the door of the demagogue-ridden public, who 
suffer their anointed delegates (or perhaps arointed, 

287 


MISCELLANIES 


—which is it?) to insult the common-sense of them 
(the public) by making orations in our national halls 
on the beauty and conveniency of robbing the literary 
Europe on the highway, and on the gross absurdity 
in especial of admitting so unprincipled a principle 
that a man has any right and title either to his own 
brains or to the flimsy material that he chooses to 
spin out of them, like a confounded caterpillar as he 
is. If anything of this gossamer character stands 
in need of protection, why, we have our hands full at 
once with the silk-worms and the morus multicaults. 

But if we cannot, under the circumstances, com- 
plain of the absolute illiberality of the magazine 
publishers (since pay they do), there is at least 
one particular in which we have against them good 
grounds of accusation. Why (since pay they must) 
do they not pay with a good grace and promptly ? 
Were we in an illhumor at this moment we could 
a tale unfold which would erect the hair on the head 
of Shylock. A young author, struggling with Despair 
itself in the shape of a ghastly poverty, which has 
no alleviation,—no sympathy from an _ every-day 
world that cannot understand his necessities, and 
that would pretend not to understand them if it 
comprehended them ever so well, —this young author 
is politely requested to compose an article, for which 
he will “be handsomely paid.” Enraptured, he neg- 
lects perhaps for a month the sole employment which 
affords him the chance of a livelihood, and, having 
starved through the month (he and his family), com- 
pletes at length the month of starvation and the 
article, and despatches the latter (with a broad hint 
about the former) to the pursy “editor” and bottle 

288 


SECRETS OF THE MAGAZINE PRISON-HOUSE 


nosed “proprietor” who has condescended to honor 
him (the poor devil) with his patronage. A month 
(starving still), and no reply. Another month, — still 
none. Two months more, —still none. A second 
letter, modestly hinting that the article may not have 
reached its destination, —still no reply. At the ex- 
piration of six additional months, personal application 
is made at the “editor’s” and ‘ proprietor’s”’ office. 
Call again. The poor devil goes out, and does not 
fail to callagain. Still call again; — and call again is 
the word for three or four months more. His patience 
exhausted, the article is demanded. No, —he can’t 
have it (the truth is it was too good to be given up 
so easily), “it is in print,’ and “contributions of 
this character are never paid for (it is a rule we 
have) under six months after publication. Call in 
six months after the issue of your affair, and your 
money is ready for you—for we are business men 
ourselves — prompt.” With this the poor devil is 
satisfied, and makes up his mind that the “ editor 
and proprietor” is a gentleman, and that of course 
he (the poor devil) will wait as requested. And it 
is supposable that he would have waited if he could, 
—but Death in the mean time would not. He dies, 
and by the good luck of his decease (which came 
by starvation) the fat “editor and proprietor” is fat 
henceforward and forever to the amount of five-and- 
twenty dollars, very cleverly saved, to be spent gen- 
erously in canvas-backs and champagne. 

There are two things which we hope the reader 
will not do as he runs over this article: first, we 
hope that he will not believe. that we write from 
any personal experience of our own, for we have 

VOL. IX. — 19 289 


MISCELLANIES 


only the reports of actual sufferers to depend upon; 
and second, that he will not make any personal 
application of our remarks to any magazine pub- 
lisher now living, it being well known that they 
are all as remarkable for their generosity and urbanity 
as for their intelligence and appreciation of Genius. 


290 








NOTES 


sresteee 


EUREKA 


Eureka: | A Prose Poem. | By Edgar A. Poe | New 
York. | G. P. Putnam, | 155 Broadway | 1848. Issued in 
boards. 

Collation : titlepage, with copyright and imprint on verso, 
pp. 1-2; Dedication with blank verso, pp. 3-4; Preface, 
with blank verso, pp. 5-6; Eureka, pp. 7-143. 

The text of “Eureka” adopted in this edition is that 
of Poe’s annotated copy, upon the margin of which he had 
made a thorough and minute revision. 

The following ADDENDA to “Eureka” was enclosed to 
G. W. Eveleth, Esq., in a letter, Feb. 29, 1848, summariz- 
ing the lecture (Ingram’s ‘‘ Life of Poe,” ii. pp. 139-142). 
It is now published from a copy of the manuscript. A few 
words at the end of the letter introduce it. 


ADDENDA 


“ By the bye, lest you infer that my views, in detail, are 
the same with those advanced in the Nebular Hypothesis, 
I venture to offer a few ADDENDA, the substance of which 
was penned, but never printed, several years ago, under 
the head of — 

“A PREDICTION 


“As soon as the beginning of the next century it will 
be entered in the dooks that the Sun was originally con- 
densed, at once, not gradually according to the supposi- 


293 


NOTES 


tion of Laplace, into his smallest size ; that, thus condensed, 
he rotated on an axis; that this axis of rotation was not 
the centre of his figure, so that he not only rotated, but 
revolved in an elliptical orbit (the rotation and revolution 
are one, but I separate them for convenience of illustra- 
tion); that, thus formed and thus revolving, he was on 
fire and sent into space his substance in the form of vapor, 
this vapor reaching farthest on the side of the larger 
hemisphere, partly on account of the largeness, but princi- 
pally because the force of the fire was greater here; that, 
in due time, this vapor, not necessarily carried then to 
the place now occupied by Neptune, condensed into that 
planet; that Neptune took, as a matter of necessity, the 
same figure that the Sun had, which figure made his 
rotation a revolution in an elliptical orbit; that, in conse- 
quence of such revolution — in consequence of his being 
carried backward at each of the daz/y revolutions — the 
velocity of his azzual revolution is not so great as it would 
be, if it depended solely upon the Sun’s velocity of rota- 
tion (Kepler’s third law); that his figure, by influencing 
his rotation — the heavier half, as it turns downward 
toward the Sun, gains an impetus sufficient to carry it by 
the direct line of attraction, and thus to throw outward 
the centre of gravity — gave him power to save himself 
from falling to the Sun (and, perhaps, to work himself 
gradually outward to the position he now occupies) ; that 
he received, through a series of ages, the Sun’s heat, 
which penetrated to his centre, causing volcanoes event- 
ually and thus throwing off vapor, and which evaporated 
substances upon his surface, till his moons and his gaseous 
ring (if it is true that he has a ring) were produced; that 
these moons took elliptical forms, rotated, and revolved 
‘both under one,’ were kept in their monthly orbits by the 
centrifugal force acquired in their daily (moon-day) orbits, 
and required a longer time to make their monthly revolu- 
tions than they would have, if they had had no daily 
revolutions. 


294 


NOTES 


“T have said enough, without referring to the other 
planets, to give you an inkling of my hypothesis, which is 
all I intended to do. I did not design to offer any evi- 
dence of its reasonableness ; since I have not, in fact, any 
collected, excepting as it is flitting in the shape of a shadow 
to and fro within my brain. 

“You perceive that I hold to the idea that our Moon 
must rotate upon her axis oftener than she revolves round 
her primary, the same being the case with the moons ac- 
companying Jupiter, Saturn, and Uranus. 

“Since the penning, a closer analysis of the matter con- 
tained has led me to modify somewhat my opinion as to 
the origin of the satellites—that is, I hold now that 
these came, not from vapor sent off in volcanic eruptions 
and by simple diffusion under the solar rays, but from 
rings of it which were left in the inter-planetary spaces 
after the precipitation of the primaries. There is no in- 
superable obstacle in the way of the conception that 
meteoric stones and ‘shooting-stars’ have their source in 
matter which has gone off from volcanoes and by com- 
_mon evaporation; but it is hardly supposable that a suffi- 
cient quantity could be produced thus to make a body so 
large as, by centrifugal force resulting from rotation, to 
withstand the absorptive power of its parent’s rotation. 
The event implied may take place not until the planets 
have become flaming suns — from an accumulation of their 
own Sun’s caloric, reaching from centre to surface, which 
shall in the lonesome latter days melt all the elements and 
dissipate the solid foundations out as a scroll. 


“The Sun forms, in rotating, a vortex in the ether sur- 
rounding him. The planets have their orbits lying within 
this vortex at different distances from its centre; so that 
their liabilities to be absorbed by it are, other things being 
equal, inversely just according to those distances, since 
length, not surface, is the measure of the absorptive power 
along the lines marking the orbits. Each planet over- 


295 


NOTES 


comes its liability — that is, keeps in its orbit — through 
a counter-vortex generated by its own rotation. The force 
of such counter-vortex is measured by multiplying together 
the producing planet’s density and rotary velocity; which 
velocity depends, not upon the length of the planet’s 
equatorial circumference, but upon the distance through 
which a given point of the equator is carried during a 
rotary period. Then zf Venus and Mercury, for example, 
have now the orbits in which they commenced their revolu- 
tions —the orbit of the former 68 million miles, and 
that of the latter 37 million miles, from the centre of 
the Sun’s vortex; if the diameter of Venus is 2? times 
the diameter, and her density is the same with the density 
of Mercury; and if the rotary velocity of the equator of 
Venus is 1,000 miles per hour, that of Mercury is 1,900 
miles per hour, making the diameter of his oréit of rotation 
14,500 miles —nearly five times that of himself.— But I 
pass this point without farther examination. Whether there 
is or is not a difference in the relative conditions of the 
different planets sufficient to cause such a diversity in the 
extents of their peripheries of rotation as is indicated, 
still each planet is to be considered to have, other things 
being equal, a vortical resistance bearing the same propor- 
tion, inversely, to that of every other planet which its 
distance from the centre of the solar vortex bears to the 
distance of every other from the same; so that, if it be 
removed inward or outward from its position, it will in- 
crease or diminish that resistance, accordingly, by adding 
to or subtracting from its speed of rotation. As the rotary 
period must be one in the two cases, the greater or less 
speed can be produced only by the lengthening or the short- 
ening of the circumference described by the rotation. 
“Then Mercury, at the distance of Venus, would rotate 
in an orbit only 37 as broad as the one in which he does 
rotate; so his centrifugal force, in that position, would 
be only 3i.as great as it is in his own position; so his capa- 
bility, while there, of resisting the forward pressure of the 
296 


NOTES 


Sun’s vortex, which prevents him from passing his full 
(czrcle) distance behind his centre of rotation and thus 
adds to his velocity in his axzual orbit, would be but 24 
what it is in his own place. But this forward pressure is 
only 37 as great at the distance of Venus as it is at that 
of Mercury. Then Mercury, with his own rotary speed 
in the annual orbit of Venus, would move in this orbit 
but 27 as fast as Venus moves in it; while Venus, with 
her rotary speed in Mercury’s annual orbit, would move 
4% as fast as she moves in her own— that is, $$ of $$ as 
fast as Mercury would move in the same (annual orbit of 
Venus); it follows that the square root of $4 is the mea- 
sure of the velocity of Mercury in his own annual orbit 
with his own rotary speed, compared with that of Venus 
in her annual orbit with her rotary speed— in accordance 
with fact. 

“Such is my explanation of Kepler’s first and third 
laws, which laws cannot be explained upon the principle 
of Newton’s theory. 

“Two planets, gathered from portions of the Sun’s 
vapor into one orbit, would rotate through the same 
ellipse with velocities proportional to their densities — 
that is, the denser planet would rotate the more swiftly ; 
since, in condensing, it would have descended farther 
toward the Sun. For example, suppose the Earth and 
Jupiter to be the two planets in one orbit. The diameter 
of the former is 8,000 miles; period of rotation, 24 hours. 
The diameter of the latter is 88,000 miles; period, 94 hours. 
The ring of vapor out of which the Earth was formed, 
was of a certain (perpendicular) width; that out of which 
Jupiter was formed, was of a certain greater width. In 
condensing, the springs of ether lying among the particles 
(these springs having been latent before the condensation 
began) were let out, the number of them along any given 
radial line being the number of spaces among all the 
couples of the particles constituting the line. If the twa 
condensations had gone on in simple diametric propor- 


297 


NOTES 


tions, Jupiter would have put forth only 11 times as many 
springs as the Earth did, and his velocity would have been 
but 11 times her velocity. But the fact that the falling- 
downward of her particles was completed when they had 
got so far that 24 hours were required for her equator to 
make. its rotary circuit; while that of his particles 
continued till but about # of her period was occupied by 
his equator in effecting z¢s revolution; shows that his 
springs were increased above hers in still another ratio 
of 24, making, in the case, his velocity and his vortical 
force (24 X I1 ==) 27 times her velocity and force. 

“Then the planets’ densities are inversely as their 
rotary periods; and their rotary velocities and degrees of 
centrifugal force are, other things being equal, directly as 
their densities. 

“ Two planets, revolving in one orbit, in rotating, would 
approach the Sun, therefore enlarge their rotary ellipses, 
therefore accelerate their rotary velocities, therefore in- 
crease their powers of withstanding the influence of the 
solar vortex inversely according to the products of their 
diameters into their densities —that is, the smaller and 
less dense planet, having to resist an amount of influence 
equal to that resisted by the other, would multiply the 
number of its resisting springs by the ratios of the other’s 
diameter and density to the diameter and density of itself. 
Thus, the Earth, in Jupiter’s orbit, would have to rotate 
in an ellipse 27 times as broad as herself, in order to 
make her power correspond with his. 

“Then the breadths, in a perpendicular direction, of 
the rotary ellipses of the planets in their several orbits are 
inversely as the products obtained by multiplying together 
the bodies’ densities, diameters, and distances from the 
centre of the solar vortex. Thus, the product of Jupiter’s 
density, diameter, and distance being (2$ times Ir times 
5t=) 140+times the product of the Earth’s density, 
diameter and distance, the breadth of the latter’s ellipse 
is about 1,120,000 miles; this upon the foundation, of 

298 


NOTES 


course, that Jupiter’s ellipse coincides with his own 
equatorial diameter. 

“Tt will be observed that that process, in its last 
analysis, presents the point that rotary speed (hence that 
vortical force) is in exact inverse proportion to distance. 
Then, since the movement in orbit is a part of the rotary 
movement — being the rate at which the centre of the rotary 
ellipse is carried along the line marking the orbit — and 
since that centre and the planet’s centre are not identical, 
the former being the point around which the latter re- 
volves, causing, by the act, a relative loss of time in the 
inverse ratio of the square root of distance, as I have 
shown back; the speed in orbit is inversely according to 
the square root of distance. Demonstration— The Earth’s 
orbital period contains 365} of her rotary periods. Dur- 
ing these periods her equator passes through a distance of 
(1,120,000 X 44 & 3654 =) about 1,286 million miles: and 
the centre of her rotary ellipse, through a distance of 
(95,000,000 X 2 X 44 =) about 597 million miles. Jupiter’s 
orbital period has ie 3654 X 24 X 12 years =) about 10,957 
of his Epheky periods, during which his equator courses 
(88,000 X 24 X 10,957 =) about 3,050 million miles; and 
the centre "of his rotary ellipse, about the same number 
of miles (490,000,000 X 2 X 44). Dividing this distance by 

2 (3:050:000.000—) gives the length of Jupiter’s double 
journey during one of the Earth’s orbital periods = 254 
million miles — relative velocities in ellipse (4288 =) 5 + 
to 1, which is inversely as the distances; and relative 
velocities in orbit (824 = ) 2+ to I, inversely as the square 
roots of the distances. 

‘‘The Sun’s period of rotation being 25 days, his density 
is only », of that of a planet having a period of 24 hours 
—that of Mercury, for instance. Hence Mercury had, 
for the purpose now in view, virtually, a diameter equal to 
a little more than 51, of that of the Sun (&8$+0.0.0— 35,520; 


85520. = 11.845 a§8.990 — = ) — say 75,000 miles. 
299 


NOTES 


“Here we have a conception of the planet in the mzd- 
stage, so to speak, of its condensation— after the break- 
ing-up of the vaporous ring which was to produce it, and 
just at the taking-on of the globular form. But before 
the arrival at this stage, the figure was that of a ¢ruck, the 
vertical diameter of which is identifiable in the periphery 
of the globe (75,000 X 44 ==) 236 thousand miles. Half- 
way down this diameter the body settled into its (original) 
orbit — rather, would have settled, had it been the only 
one, besides its parent, in the Solar-System —an orbit 
distant from the Sun’s equator (226,000) == 118 thousand 
miles; and from the centre of the solar vortex (118,000 +- 
888,000 —), 562 thousand miles. To this are to be added, 
successively, the lengths of the semi-diameters of the 
trucks of Venus, of the Earth —and so on outward. 

“ There, the planet’s ovzginal distances — rather, speak- 
ing strictly, the widths from the common centre to the 
outer limits of their rings of vapor—are pointed at. 
From them as foundations, the present distances may be 
deduced. A simple outline of the process to the deduc- 
tion is this: Neptune took his orbit first; then Uranus 
took his. The effect of the coming into closer conjunc- 
tion of the two bodies was such as would have been pro- 
duced by bringing each so much nearer the centre of the 
solar vortex. Each enlarged its rotary ellipse and in- 
creased its rotary velocity in the ratio of the decrease of 
distance. A secondary result—the fza/ consequence — 
of the enlargement and the increase was the propulsion of 
each outward, the square root of the relative decrease 
being the measure of the length through which each was 
sent. The frvimary result of course was the drawing of 
each inward; and it is fairly presumable that there were 
oscillations inward and outward, outward and inward, during 
several successive periods of rotation. It is probable — 
at any rate, not glaringly improbable — that, in the oscilla- 
tions across the remnants of the rings of vapor (the natu- 
ral inference is that these were not completely gathered 

300 


NOTES 


into the composition of the bodies), portions of the vapor 
were whirled into satellites, which followed in the passage 
outward. 

Saturn’s ring (I have no allusion to the rings now exist- 
ing), as well as that of each of the other planets after 
him, while it was gradually being cast off from the Sun’s 
equator, was carried along in the track of its next prede- 
cessor, the distance here being the full quotient (not the 
square root of the quotient) found in dividing by the 
breadth of its own periphery that to the periphery of the 
other. Thus, reckoning for Uranus a breadth of 17 mil- 
lion miles and for Saturn one of 14 million miles, the 
latter (still in his vaporous state) was conducted outward 
(through a sort of capillary attraction) 14 as far as the 
former (after condensation) was driven by the vortical 
influence of Neptune. The new body and the two older 
bodies ixterchanged forces, and another advance outward 
(of all three) was made. Combining all of the asteroids 
into one of the Wine Great Powers, there were eight 
stages of the general movement away from the centre; 
and, granting that we have exact the diameters and the 
rotary periods (that is, the densities) of all of the partici- 
pants in the movement, the measurement of each stage, 
by itself, and of all the stages together, can be calculated 
exactly. 

“ How will ¢zat do for a postscript ?” 


In lieu of a critical preface to “ Eureka,” the following 
account of its composition, together with a criticism of it, 
the more technical portions of which were furnished by 
Prof. Irving Stringham of the University of California, is 
reprinted from the present writer’s biography of Poe. 


“With the view of raising the money to make a 
personal canvass for ‘ The Stylus,’ Poe advertised a lec- 
ture in the Society Library, on the ‘Cosmogony of the 
Universe,’ and at his request Willis besought public favor 
for it in his paper, the ‘Home Journal,’ and added a good 

301 


NOTES 


\ 


word for the projected ‘Stylus,’ the founding of which 
was said to be the ultimate object of the lecture. On 
February third, in response to these notices, about sixty 
persons assembled, the night unfortunately being stormy, 
and, it is said, were held entranced for two hours and a 
half by an abstract of ‘ Eureka.’ 

“The lecture was imperfectly reported by a few of the 
city papers, but made no impression. Financially it had 
failed of its purpose, and therefore Poe, seeing no better 
means of obtaining funds, determined to publish the 
entire work, and at once offered it to Mr. Putnam, who 
many years afterward wrote an account of the interview, 
which, though doubtless essentially true, seems to be 
colored. He says that Poe was in a tremor of excite- 
ment, and declared with intense earnestness and solemnity 
that the issue of the book was of momentous interest, 
that the truths disclosed in it were of more consequence 
than the discovery of gravitation, and that an edition of 
fifty thousand copies would be but a beginning. Mr. Put- 
nam confesses that he was impressed, and two days later 
accepted the manuscript. An addition of five hundred 
copies was printed without delay and published early in 
the summer, in good form, under the title ‘Eureka; A 
Prose Poem,’ and introduced by the well-known preface, 
which closed with these words— ‘It is as a Poem only 
that I wish this work to be judged after I am dead.’ 

“The speculative activity of Poe’s mind grew out of its 
analytical activity ; the metaphysical essays virtually begin 
when the ratiocinative tales end, in 1845, and thus in the 
history of Poe’s mental development, ‘ Eureka,’ the princi- 
pal work of his last years, necessarily occupies an impor- 
tant place. The earliest indication that such topics 
occupied his mind occurs in the review of Macaulay’s 
‘Essays’: ‘That we know no more to-day of the nature 
of Deity — of its purposes —and thus of man himself — 
than we did even a dozen years ago—is a proposition 
disgracefully absurd; and of this any astronomer could 

302 


NOTES 


assure Mr. Macaulay. Indeed, to our own mind, the only 
irrefutable argument in support of the soul’s immortality 
— or, rather, the only conclusive proof of man’s alternate 
dissolution and rejuvenescence ad infinitum —is to be 
found in analogies deduced from the modern established 
theory of the nebular cosmogony.’ Shortly after this 
utterance the metaphysical tales begin, but the specula- 
tions of Poe were not fully developed until the publi- 
cation of ‘ Eureka.’ 

“ Poe’s hypothesis is as follows: The mind knows in- 
tuitively — by inductive or deductive processes which 
escape consciousness, elude reason, or defy expression — 
that the creative act of Deity must have been the sim- 
plest possible; or, to expand and define this statement, it 
must have consisted in willing into being a primordial 
particle, the germ of all things, existing without relations 
to aught, or, in the technical phrase, unconditioned. This 
particle, by virtue of the divine volition, radiated into 
space uniformly in all directions a shower of atoms of 
diverse form, irregularly arranged among themselves, but 
all, generally speaking, equally distant from their source; 
this operation was repeated at intervals, but with decreased 
energy in each new instance, so that the atoms were im- 
pelled less far. On the exhaustion of the radiating force, 
the universe was thus made up of a series of concentric 
hollow spheres, like a nest of boxes, the crusts of the 
several spheres being constituted of the atoms of the 
several discharges. The radiating force at each of its 
manifestations is measured by the number of atoms then 
thrown off; or, since the number of atoms in any particu- 
lar case must have been directly proportional with the 
surface of the particular sphere they occupied, and since 
the surfaces of a series of concentric spheres are directly 
proportional with the squares of their distances from the 
centre, the radiating force in the several discharges was 
directly proportional with the squares of the distances to 
which the several atomic showers were driven. 


393 


NOTES 


“On the consummation of this secondary creative act, 
as the diffusion may be called, there occurred, says Poe, 
a recoil, a striving of the atoms each to each in order to 
regain their primitive condition; and this tendency, which 
is now being satisfied, is expressed in gravitation, the 
mutual attraction of atoms with a force inversely propor- 
tional with the squares of the distances. In other words, 
the law of gravitation is found to be the converse of the 
law of radiation, as would be the case if the former energy 
were the reaction of the latter as is claimed ; furthermore, 
the distribution of the atoms in space is seen to be such 
as would result from the mode of diffusion described. 
The return of the atoms into their source, however, would 
take place too rapidly, adds Poe, and without accomplish- 
ing the Deity’s design of developing out of the original 
homogeneous particle the utmost heterogeneity, were it 
not that God, in this case a true Deus ex machina, has 
interposed by introducing a repelling force which began 
to be generated at the very inception of the universal 
reaction, and ever becomes greater as the latter proceeds. 
Poe names this force electricity, while at the same time 
he suggests that light, heat, and magnetism are among 
its phases, and ascribes to it all vital and mental phe- 
nomena; but of the principle itself he makes a mystery, 
since he is intuitively convinced that it belongs to that 
spiritual essence which lies beyond the limits of human 
inquiry. In the grand reaction, then, the universe is 
through attraction becoming more condensed, and through 
repulsion more heterogeneous. Attraction and repulsion 
taken together constitute our notion of matter; the 
former is the physical element, the Body, the latter is the 
spiritual element, the Soul. Incidentally it should be 
remarked that since in a divine design, being perfect, no 
one part exists for the sake of others more than the 
others for its sake, it is indifferent whether repulsion be 
considered, as hitherto, an expedient to retard the attrac- 
tive force, or, on the other hand, the attractive force as 


304 


NOTES 


an expedient to develop repulsion; in other words, it is 
indifferent whether the physical be regarded as subordi- 
nate to the spiritual element, or vice versa. To return to 
the main thread, Poe affirms that repulsion will not in- 
crease indefinitely as the condensation of the mass pro- 
ceeds, but when in the process of time it has fulfilled its 
purpose —the evolution of heterogeneity —it will cease, 
and the attractive force, being unresisted, will draw the 
atoms back into the primordial particle in which, as it 
has no parts, attraction will also cease; now, attraction 
and repulsion constituting our notion of matter, the cessa- 
tion of these two forces is the same thing with the 
annihilation of matter, or in other words, the universe, at 
the end of the reaction which has been mentally followed 
out, will sink into the nihility out of which it arose. In 
conclusion Poe makes one last affirmation, to wit, that 
the diffusion and ingathering of the universe is the diffu- 
sion and ingathering of Deity itself, which has no existence 
apart from the constitution of things. 

“It is difficult to treat this hypothesis, taken as a 
metaphysical speculation, with respect. To examine it 
for the purpose of demolition would be a tedious, though 
an easy task; but fortunately there is no need to do more 
than point out a few of its confusions in order to illustrate 
the worthlessness of Poe’s thought in this field, and to 
indicate the depth of the delusion under which he labored 
in believing himself a discoverer of new truth. For this 
purpose it will be best to take the most rudimentary 
metaphysical ideas involved. The primordial particle is 
declared to be unconditioned —‘my particle proper is 
absolute Irrelation,’— or in other words it is the Abso- 
lute; but this is incompatible with its being willed into 
being by Deity, to which it would then necessarily stand 
related as an effect to its cause; on the contrary, it must 
itself, being the Absolute, be Deity with which Poe at 
last identifies it. In othe: words, when Poe has reached 
the conception of the primordial particle as first defined 

VOL, 1X. — 20 305 


NOTES 


by him, he is just where he started, that is, at the concep- 
tion of Deity, and at that point, as has been seen, he 
had to end. The difficulty which bars inquiry — the in- 
conceivability of creation — remains as insuperable as 
ever, although Poe may have cheated himself into believ- 
ing it overcome by the legerdemain of a phrase from 
physics ; in the attempt to describe the generation of the 
phenomenal universe out of the unknowable, he has 
been foiled by the old obstacles —the impossibility of 
making an equation between nothing and something, of 
effecting a transformation of the absolute into the condi- 
tioned. If the primordial particle be material, it is only 
the scientific equivalent of the old turtle of the Hindoos, 
on which the elephant stands to support the globe; if it 
be immaterial, it is the void beneath. 

“Such a criticism as the above belongs to the primer of 
thought in this science; but objections as obvious, brief, 
and fatal may be urged against every main point of the 
argument. Without entering on such a discussion, it is 
sufficient to observe, as characteristic illustrations of the 
density of Poe’s ignorance in this department of knowl- 
edge, that he regards space not as created but as given, ex- 
plains the coridensation of the universe as being a physical 
reaction upon the immaterial will of God (for the original 
radiating force cannot be discriminated from and is ex- 
pressly identified with the divine volition, just as the 
primordial particle cannot be discriminated from and is 
expressly identified with the divine essence), and lastly 
so confuses such simple notions as final and efficient 
causes that he contradistinguishes the force of repulsion 
from that of attraction as arising and disappearing in 
obedience to the former instead of the later sort. Ina 
word, Poe’s theory belongs to the infancy of speculation, 
to the period before physics was separated from ontology; 
in this sense, and in no other, Kennedy’s remark that Poe 
wrote like ‘an old Greek philosopher,’ was just. 

“What Poe himself most prized in this hypothesis was 

306 


NOTES 


its pantheistic portion. The sentence of Baron Bielfeld 
— ‘nous ne connaissons rien de la nature ou de l’essence 
de Dieu ;— pour savoir ce qu’il est, il faut tre Dieu méme,’ 
—had made a deep impression on his mind early in life, 
it is one of the half-dozen French quotations that he 
introduces at every opportunity into his compositions ; in 
‘Eureka’ he translates it, ‘We know absolutely xothing 
of the nature or essence of God; in order to comprehend 
what he is, we should have to be God ourselves,’ — and 
he immediately adds, ‘I nevertheless venture to demand 
if this our present ignorance of the Deity is an ignorance 
to which the soul is ever/astingly condemned.’ Now after 
reflection he boldly took the only road to such knowledge 
that was left open by the apothegm, and affirmed that he 
was God, being persuaded thereto by his memories of an 
ante-natal and his aspiration for an immortal existence, 
and in particular by his pride. ‘My whole nature utterly 
revolts,’ he exclaimed, ‘at the idea that there is any Being 
in the Universe superior to myse/f!’ On reading so vio- 
lent an expression of belief one involuntarily examines 
the matter more closely and pushes home the question 
whether Poe did actually so fool himself to the top of 
his bent; and after some little investigation one finds that, 
if he was his own dupe, the reason is not far to seek. It 
is necessary here to summarize the speculations which 
were put forth elsewhere by Poe, especially in the meta- 
physical tales, and either led up to or supplemented the 
views of ‘ Eureka.’ 

“ According to these other statements, the Universe is 
made up of gross matter sensibly perceived and of fine 
matter so minutely divided that the atoms coalesce (this 
is, of course, a contradiction in terms) and form an un- 
particled substance which permeates and impels all things. 
This unparticled substance or imperceptible coalescent 
matter is the universal mind (into such unintelligible 
phraseology is the keen analyst forced); its being is 
Deity ; its motion, regarded on the material or energetic 


397 


NOTES 


side, is the divine volition, or, regarded on the mental or 
conscious side, is the creative thought. Deity and its 
activity, being such in its universal existence, is individu- 
alized, by means of gross matter made for that end, into 
particular creatures, among which are men; the human 
being, in other words, is a specialization of the universal, 
or is God incarnate, as is every other creature whatso- 
ever. It is superfluous to follow Poe in his fantastic 
conception of the universe as the abode of countless rudi- 
mentary incarnations of the Deity, each a divine thought 
and therefore irrevocable; the peculiar form of his pan- 
theism would not be more defined thereby. At the first 
glance one sees that his theory is built out of Cartesian 
notions, crudely apprehended, and rendered ridiculous 
by the effort to yoke them with thoroughly materialistic 
ideas. In fact, Poe’s scraps of speculative philosophy 
came from such opposite quarters that when his mind 
began to work on such contradictory information he could 
not well help falling into inextricable confusion. On the one 
hand, he had derived, early in life, from obscure disciples 
of the French phzlosophes, the first truth that a materialist 
ever learns, — the origin of all knowledge in experience, 
and the consequent limitation of the mind to phenomena 3 
on the other hand, he had at a later period gleaned some 
of the conceptions of transcendentalism from Coleridge, 
Schlegel, and other secondary sources ; from the union of 
such principles the issue was naturally monstrous, two- 
natured, like the Centaur. Essentially Poe was a mate- 
rialist; whether, by gradually refining and: subdividing 
matter, he reaches the unparticled substance, or by revers- 
ing the evolution of nature he arrives at the fiery mist 
and the primordial particle, he seeks to find out God by 
searching matter; and even in adopting the radically 
spiritual idea of pantheism, he is continually endeavoring 
to give it a materialistic form. He persuaded himself, as 
it is easy for ignorance to do; subtle as his mind was, 
well furnished for metaphysical thought both by his powers 
308 


NOTES 


of abstraction and of reasoning, he wrote the jargon 
that belongs to the babbling days of philosophy because 
he did not take the pains to know the results of past 
inquiry and to train himself in modern methods. By his 
quick perception and adroit use of analogies, and espe- 
cially by his tireless imagination, he gave his confused 
dogmatism the semblance of a reasoned system; but in 
fact his metaphysics exhibit only the shallowness of his 
scholarship and the degrading self-delusion of an arrogant 
and fatuous mind. 

“It is probable that few readers of ‘Eureka’ ever 
seriously tried to understand its metaphysics. Its power 
—other than the fascination which some readers feel in 
whatever makes of their countenances ‘a footish face of 
wonder’ — lies in its exposition of Laplace’s nebular 
theory and its vivid and popular presentation of astro- 
nomical phenomena. In this physical portion of the essay 
it has been fancied that Poe anticipated some of the 
results of later science; but this view cannot be sustained 
with candor. His own position, that matter came from 
nihility and consisted of centres of force, had been put 
forth asa scientific theory by Boscovich in 1758-59, had been 
widely discussed, and had found its way into American 
text-books. The same theory in a modified form had just 
been revived and brought to the notice of scientists by 
Faraday in his lecture in 1844. It has not, however, occu- 
pied the attention of first-class scientific men since that 
time. There may be, in the claim that ‘the recent 
progress of scientific thought runs in Poe’s lines,’ some 
reference to Sir William Thomson’s vortex theory of the 
constitution of atoms; but its resemblance to Poe’s theory 
of vortices is only superficial, for what he puts forth was 
merely a revival of one of the earliest attempts to explain 
the Newtonian law, long since abandoned by science. It 
is true that in several particulars, such as the doctrine of 
the evolution of the universe from the simple to the com- 
plex, Poe’s line of thought has now been followed out in 


399 


NOTES 


detail ; these suggestions, however, were not at the time 
peculiar to Poe, were not originated or developed by him, 
but on the contrary were common scientific property, for 
he appropriated ideas, just as he paraphrased statements 
of fact, from the books he read. He was no more a fore- 
runner of Spencer, Faraday, and Darwin than scores of 
others, and he did nothing to make their investigations 
easier. 

“ Poe’s purely scientific speculations are mainly con- 
tained in the unpublished ADDENDA to a report of his lec- 
ture on ‘The Universe’ sent to a correspondent, and 
consist either of mathematical explanations of Kepler’s 
first and third laws, or of statements, ‘that the sun was 
condensed at once (not gradually, according to the sup- 
position of Laplace) into his smallest size,’ and afterwards 
‘sent into space his substance in the form of a vapor,’ 
from which Neptune was made; or of similar theories. | 
They exhibit once more Poe’s tenacity of mind, the sleuth- 
hound persistence of his intellectual pursuit; but, like his 
metaphysics, they represent a waste of power. They are, 
moreover, characterized by extraordinary errors. Some 
of the data are quite imaginary, it being impossible to 
determine what are the facts; some of them are quite 
wrong. The density of Jupiter, for example, in a long 
and important calculation, is constantly reckoned as two 
and one half, whereas it is only something more than one 
fifth, and the densities of the planets are described as 
being inversely as their rotary periods, whereas in any 
table of the elements of the solar system some wide 
departures from this rule are observable. Again, it is 
stated that Kepler’s first and third laws ‘cannot be 
explained upon the principle of Newton’s theory;’ but, 
in fact, they follow by mathematical deduction from 
it. Poe’s own explanation of them is merely a play upon 
figures. A striking instance of fundamental ignorance 
of astronomical science is his statement at various places 
that the planets rotate (on their own axes) in elliptical 

310 


NOTES 


orbits, and the reference he frequently makes to the 
breadth of their orbits (the breadth of their paths through 
space) agreeably to this supposition. Such a theory is 
incompatible with the Newtonian law of gravitation, 
according to which any revolution in an elliptical orbit 
implies a source of attraction at the focus of the ellipse. 
Examples of bodies which have breadth of orbit in Poe’s 
sense are found in the satellites of all the planets, each of 
which, however, has its primary as a source of attraction 
to keep it in its elliptical orbit; the primary by its revolu- 
tion round the sun gives then the satellite a breadth of 
orbit. But to make the proper rotation of the planets 
themselves take place about a focus, which would be 
merely a point moving in an elliptical orbit about the sun, 
would be to give them an arbitrary motion with no force 
to produce it. 

“So far was Poe from being a seer of science, that he 
was fundamentally in error with regard to the generaliza- 
tions which were of prime importance to his speculations. 
The one grand assumption of his whole speculation is the 
universality of the law of inverse squares as applied to 
attraction and repulsion, whereas it has been known since 
the beginning of study regarding them that that law does 
not explain all the forces involved, as, for example, mo- 
lecular forces ; and for this Boscovich himself had provided, 
Again, to illustrate his scientific foresight, he reproaches 
Herschel for his reluctance to doubt the stability of the 
universe, and himself boldly affirms, consistently with 
his theory, that it is in a state of ever swifter collapse; 
than this nothing could be more at variance with the 
great law of the conservation of energy. Undoubtedly 
Poe had talents for scientific investigation, had he been 
willing to devote himself to such work; but, so far as 
appears from this essay, he had not advanced farther in 
science than the elements of physics, mathematics, and 
astronomy, as he had learned them at school or from 
popular works, such as Dr. Nichol’s ‘ Architecture of the 


311 


NOTES 


Heavens,’ or from generalizations, such as the less tech- 
nical chapters of Auguste Comte’s ‘La Philosophie 
Positif.’ Out of such a limited stock of knowledge Poe 
could not by mete reflection generate any Newtonian 
truth; that he thought he had done so, measures his 
folly. In a word, for this criticism must be brought toa 
close, ‘ Eureka’ affords one of the most striking instances 
in literature of a naturally strong intellect tempted by 
Overweening pride to an Icarian flight, and betrayed, 
notwithstanding its merely specious knowledge, into an 
ignoble exposure of its own presumption and ignorance. 
The facts are not to be obscured by the smooth profession 
of Poe that he wished this work to be looked on only as 
a poem; for, though he perceived that his argument was 
too fragmentary and involved to receive credence, he was 
himself profoundly convinced that he had revealed the 
secret of eternity. Nor, were ‘Eureka’ to be judged as 
a poem, that is to say, as a fictitious cosmogony, would 
the decision be more favorable; even then so far as it is 
obscure to the reader it must be pronounced defective, so 
far as it is understood, involving as it does in its primary 
conceptions incessant contradictions of the necessary laws 
of thought, it must be pronounced meaningless. Poe 
believed himself to be that extinct being, a universal 
genius of the highest order; and he wrote this essay to 
prove his powers in philosophy and in science. To the 
correspondent to whom he sent the addenda he declared, 
‘As to the lecture, I am very quiet about it—but if you 
have ever dealt with such topics, you will recognize the 
novelty and moment of my views. What I have pro- 
pounded will (in good time) revolutionize the world of 
Physical and Metaphysical science. I say this calmly, but 
I say it.’ Poe succeeded only in showing how egregiously 
genius may mistake its realm.” 


The reception of the lecture by the audience, as appears 
from the notice in the “ Express,” was encouraging. The 
B12 


NOTES 


lecture, however, was a résumé. It was, nevertheless, 
sufficient to daze the reporter for the “ Express,” as will be 
clear from the following extract :— 


“Mr. Poe’s lecture on the Universe, at the Society Library 
Room, on Thursday evening, we regard as beyond all question 
the most elaborate and profound effort we ever listened to in the 
shape of a lecture ; one evincing a more extensive investigation, a 
more original train of thought, a greater complexity of detail, all 
subjected to the one great unity of fundamental thought, than we 
ever had thought it possible to compress into one evening’s dis- 
course. ‘The work has all the completeness and oneness of plot 
required in a poem, with all the detail and accuracy required in a 
scientific lecture. The fundamental conception is one which was 
generated in the highest regions of the pure imagination, and radi- 
ating thence seemed to illumine with its light all the facts that ex- 
periment and observation could throw in its way. Starting from 
the Deity, as a comet from the Sun, it went careering onward in 
its march through infinite space, approaching more and more 
closely the comprehension of man, until bending its course gradu- 
ally homeward at length, it drew nearer and nearer, grew brighter 
and brighter, until it buried itself in the blaze of glory from 
whence it had its birth. It would be impossible to give any re- 
spectable report of this extraordinary work of Art without devot- 
ing several columns to it, and even then justice could not be done. 
For the immense ground covered by the Lecturer rendered com- 
pression and close condensation one of the leading characteristics 
of his performance, so that in reality it should be published as 
delivered in order to present it fairly to the mind of the reader. 
We can therefore give only a meagre outline, but one sufficient to 
show to an intellect capable of comprehending such subjects what 
must have been made of so sublime a theme by the searching 
analysis, the metaphysical acumen, the synthetic power and the 
passion for analogical and serial development of idea according to 
a preconceived law, all which qualities are exemplified by Mr. 
Poe to a degree unsurpassed in this country, at least so far as we 
are acquainted.” 


Another writer in the press gave a somewhat different, 
if also hospitable, welcome : — 


313 


NOTES 


‘¢ This lecture, on Thursday evening, at the Society Library 
Room, was attended by a select audience, composed of the higher 
order of human intelligencies. The lecture was worthy of a 
higher sphere of intellectual development. To those who could 
comprehend its scope and follow closely its train of reasoning, the 
lecture was profoundly interesting as delivered, and would be 
still better, to be read, with time to pause and reflect upon some 
of its portions. 

‘¢ The fault of the lecture was its length, and shortening would 
have improved it in one particular, and for a considerable portion 
of the audience, by omitting those details which are to many so 
familiar. Two hours is a long session —and that Mr. Poe fas- 
tened the attention of his audience for more than that period, to 
such a subject, is quite significant of the character of his discourse.” 


Still another writer, ‘‘ Decius,” adds details that allow us 
to reconstruct the scene :— 


‘* This lecture was extraordinary in many respects. In the first 
place, its delivery lasted upwards of two mortal hours.. At the end 
of an hour and a half, some of us began to be quite sensible of the 
lapse of time; every minute after that seemed to be possessed of the 
famous property of matter so conspicuous in his discourse, called 
gravity. It weighed upon the heart. Still no end was visible; the 
thin leaves, one after another, of the neat manuscript, were grace- 
fully turned over ; yet, oh, a plenty more were evidently left behind, 
abiding patiently ‘their appointed time.’ I thought of Sig. 
Blitz, who had lectured in the same place recently, and his miracu- 
lous bag of eggs. Leaves were rapidly vanishing to the left, yet 
others, to a perfect forest, were instantly produced. The supply 
appeared inexhaustible ; but at length the last one made its exit ; 
the bag was emptied; and nothing but a blank remained. And 
was this ‘the conclusion of the whole matter? Did it end in 
nothing?’ Byno means, There were results; yet it is not an 
easy task to ascertain precisely what they were. 

“Tt is but a hint, that has been, or could possibly here be given 
of what occupied some two hours and a half in the delivery. It 
contained the fruits of much thought and study, preserved in a 
select and nervous diction, that has rarely been yoked with 
abstruse disquisitions and philosophical theories; pronounced 


314 


NOTES . 


throughout with a clear and emphatic elocution. Resolved, as it 
would seem, to bring before the public a work which he evidently 
felt proudly conscious to be worthy the attention of his audience 
for the manner, if not the materials of its execution, he unflinch- 
ingly marched onward to the close with uniform and stately steps ; 
unmindful whether his hearers were pleased or not; perhaps 
sometimes unconscious of their presence, as he turned up his 
cold, abstracted eye, unwarmed even by the fire of invention, not 
upon the men and women before him, but toward those sublime 
celestial orbs, about whose origin and destiny he was discoursing 
in such lofty language. 
“ DECIUS.”’ 
The notices of the press upon the appearance of the 
published work were of the same character, — praise 
diversified with a reluctant humor. 


MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER 


Published in the “ Southern Literary Messenger,” April, 
1836. The portions other than those pertaining to the 
analysis of the Chess-Player are from Sir David Brewster’s 
“Tectures on Natural Magic,” partly in acknowledged 
quotation, partly by close paraphrase of the sort already 
illustrated in the NoTEs, Vol. V. The analysis itself 
follows closely Brewster’s method, but is more exact 
and detailed, and adds much to the explanation. The 
pamphlet, of which the solution is given by Brewster, 
and which Poe identifies with an article in a “ Balti- 
more weekly paper,” possibly the “Saturday Visiter,” to 
which Poe contributed, has not been found; but, doubt- 
less, Brewster’s account is accurate, and it would appear 
probable from Poe’s language that he did not himself 
write it, although perhaps it directed his attention to the 
theme. 


THE PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE 


Published in Burton’s “Gentleman’s Magazine,” May, 
1840; and, slightly revised, under the title “ House Fur- 


315 


NOTES 


niture” in the “ Broadway Journal,” i. 18. The text, sav- 
ing the omission of an initial paragraph, follows the latter. 
The article belongs with the studies in decoration, natural 
or artificial, of which “The Domain of Arnheim” and 
“Tandor’s Cottage’’ are the finest types. The taste here 
displayed should be compared with that shown in Poe’s 
other tales, in which a certain Georgian luxury, due to 
his attachment to the Bulwer and Disraeli styles, is intro- 
duced as a background. 


A CHAPTER IN AUTOGRAPHY 


Poe’s articles of this sort began with two papers entitled 
“ Autography,” in the “Southern Literary Messenger,” 
February and August, 1836. A sufficient account of these 
earlier examples is given in the text, which must be held 
to replace the briefer notices of such of the authors as 
were originally dealt’ with. The paper here given was 
published in “ Graham’s Magazine,” November, December, 
January, 1841-42. Griswold omitted some half-dozen of 
the most unimportant names, and it has not been thought 
necessary to include them in this edition; the number, 
therefore, falls somewhat short of the “one hundred ” 
promised by Poe. The value of the paper lies in its 
curious magazine illustration of contemporary reputations, 
and its side-lights upon Poe’s “ Literati.” 


CRYPTOGRAPHY 


Published in “‘Graham’s Magazine,” July, 1841. Earlier 
articles on the same topic were contributed to Alexander’s 
“ Weekly Messenger,” Philadelphia, about January, 1840, 
which there is no occasion to reprint. The subject inter- 
ested Poe greatly, and contributed to “The Gold Bug; ” 
in his correspondence it continually recurs in these years, 
inasmuch as public attention was arrested by his claim 
to be able to solve any cipher that cryptographers might 
present, and many were sent to him to try his powers. 


316 


NOTES 


The present article, however, includes all of importance 
that he had to say on the topic. 


ANASTATIC PRINTING 


Published in the “Broadway Journal,” i. 15. This is 
an example of a few similar articles, such as “Street 
Paving” in the same journal, which are not reprinted, as 
they are of ephemeral nature. 


SOME SECRETS OF THE MAGAZINE PRISON- 
HOUSE 


Published in the “ Broadway Journal,” i. 7. This arti- 
cle, though, like the preceding, of little importance, has 
some biographical interest. 

G. E. W. 


END OF VOL. IX. 


317 





THIS EDITION OF THE WORKS OF EDGAR 
ALLAN POE WAS PRINTED FOR STONE AND 
KIMBALL BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, AT 
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 


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